All's Well that Ends Well
by Chanel19
Summary: Ron and Hermione's life changes dramatically as their son enters his last year at Hogwarts and Hermione takes a new job with the Ministry of Magic.
1. Opportunities

Chapter 1: Opportunities

Ron couldn't believe how crowded the platform at 9 ¾ was. It seemed like this year everyone decided to show up at exactly the same time. Art was already moving away from them toward the train. Ron tightened his arm around Hermione.

"Head Boy," she said. "I'm so proud of him."

Ron nodded his agreement. Art had turned into a fine young man.

"It seems odd not to be going back with him," Hermione continued.

Ron looked down at her. "Regrets?"

She sighed. "No, not really. Assistant director for the Department of Mysteries isn't exactly something I could pass up."

"Well," Ron frowned, "you could have."

Hermione looked up at him and rolled her eyes.

"But I didn't want to. We've been over this. It's a wonderful opportunity. I'm lucky to have been offered it."

The train started moving then, and everyone still on the platform began to wave. Ron pulled his wand out as the train left the station. "You're sure there's no practical magic involved?"

Hermione let her head fall back and let out a frustrated sigh. "For the millionth time, no. I'm reviewing projects and consulting, I'm not doing any of the practical magic." She pulled out her own wand.

"So you'll be home for dinner, not out at all hours?"

Hermione smiled. "Six o'clock on the dot."

She was as good as her word. She was already home when he arrived back from the shop. Ron sighed with relief to see her reading _The Daily Prophet_ in the parlor by the fire. He was also pleased to see that the only thing she was drinking was tea. Perhaps this new job wouldn't be so bad after all.

Ron couldn't help but have his suspicions when it came to the Ministry of Magic. After all the things they'd subjected Harry to when they were children, he just didn't trust them. He'd been upset when Hermione had first come to him about working for the Department of Mysteries. Once they'd broken up, he'd always harbored malevolent thoughts toward the Unspeakables, as though it was their fault Hermione had left him. He knew that wasn't really true, of course, but he resented them nonetheless. She hadn't remained an Unspeakable long after they got back together, but she'd continued working with the Department of Mysteries off and on as a consultant the entire time she worked at Hogwarts. Ron never liked it. The hours were awful and whenever she performed practical magic as an Unspeakable the physical toll was heavy, which Ron found to be completely unacceptable. Still, Hermione was Hermione, she wouldn't be told what she could and couldn't do. Once she was pregnant with Artie, however, she'd sworn off channeling large amounts of magic and her consulting was strictly research oriented during her pregnancy. She never said so, but Ron knew she missed working as an Unspeakable, so when Thomas Greene, Hermione's old partner, was named director of the Department of Mysteries and asked Hermione to be assistant director, she'd jumped at the chance. Both Hermione and Greene had assured Ron repeatedly that she would be supervising projects not performing them. Despite his better judgment, Ron relented and didn't protest when she accepted the job.

As he watched her read the paper, happy and healthy, her hair glowing in the firelight, he realized he'd made the right decision.

"So how was your first day on the job?" He asked as he stepped into the parlor.

"Ron," Hermione smiled as she set down the paper. "It was great. It's really nice to be back. There are some new faces, but a lot of people I've worked with before. I was a little worried about some of the staff resenting me for coming in as assistant director when I hadn't been with the Ministry the whole time, but I really didn't get that vibe today."

Ron sat down on the ottoman in front of her chair and leaned in to kiss her. "That's great, luv."

"So how was your day?" Hermione asked.

Ron set his hands down behind him, leaned back and let out a loud yawn. "Good," he said, looking at her. "But tiring. Seamus wants to broadcast concerts in addition to Quidditch and pulling together the magic for that is turning out to be rather complicated."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "More complicated than Quidditch?"

Ron scrubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah, it's the sound that's so bloody difficult."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and considered the problem. She slid her feet into Ron's lap and he rubbed them without thinking.

"I see. The problem lies in channeling all the voices. With Quidditch you only have to channel the announcer." She bit her top lip. "That's tricky."

"Tell me about it," Ron grumbled, running his thumb along the arch of her foot. "Seamus and I have been weaving for days. We can get the picture and the lead singer, but none of the instruments and none of the back up singers. It's bloody frustrating."

"It sounds like you just need more people weaving."

Ron nodded, "But then you start to enter into the law of diminishing returns on your profit margin."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. Well, keep me posted. I can't wait to see how you work this one out."

Ron frowned and set her feet down. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." He started to stand.

"Hey," Hermione said, catching his hand. "I meant that. I wasn't being sarcastic. They used to say you couldn't charm a television set to show a magical broadcast, but you proved that wrong with Quidditch, now didn't you?" She stood and ran her hand up his chest. "You're clever, Ron. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

He snorted. "Right, I'm clever. That's rich coming from you."

She fingered one of the buttons on his shirt. "I've never made a million galleons with a clever invention."

Ron was beginning to be distracted by the places her hands were wandering. "That's because the government always makes you give your clever inventions away." He nuzzled her hair.

Hermione opened his shirt and placed a warm, wet kiss on his chest. "Then I guess it wasn't very clever of me to work for them."

Ron reached for the clip holding back her hair. "Cleverness and fiscal responsibility are two different things."

Hermione nodded as she continued opening buttons. "That's why you manage the money."

Ron sighed as she pulled his belt from the loops of his pants. "I manage the money, because you can't be bothered to notice when the bills come."

"I could pay the bills," she whispered against his stomach as she began unbuttoning his trousers.

Ron closed his eyes, determined not to lose his train of thought. "You have to open the post in order to pay the bills, luv."

"The post?" Hermione teased, as she slipped her hand into his pants.

"Yes," Ron moaned as her hand closed around him, "You know, parchment brought by owls, usually in the morning. Arrives with the paper."

"Right," she whispered, and lowered her mouth over him.

Ron couldn't remember what it was they were talking about.

Christmas holidays were rapidly approaching and Ron was once again faced with a gift crisis. Art was easy. He was due a new broom and Ron had already purchased the latest racing model. Hermione, on the other hand, was typically difficult. She didn't need anything and didn't seem to want anything, which left him to figure out something creative and special. Twice a year, on Christmas and her birthday, he went totally round the bend trying to pick a gift. He pulled the collar up on his coat and hunched against the cold, cursing the early snowfall. He'd just left Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. At least Fred and George were good for a laugh even if they were useless in the gift-giving department.

He stopped at the corner, unsure whether he should try Clayworth Rare Books or Pepall Custom Jewelry.

"Ron!"

He turned and was almost knocked over by Fred, who slid to a stop, his cheeks red and puffing. Ron felt a cold fist tighten around his heart. 

"You've got to come back to the shop – there's been an accident, and Hermione's hurt." He put his hand on his chest, gasping. "St. Mungo's"

Ron took off at run for the shop. The doorbell clanged loudly as he slammed it into the wall. George thrust a pot of Floo powder at him and he grabbed a fist-full, scattering almost as much to the hearth. The last thing he heard as green flames engulfed him was Fred's shout to George: "I'm going with Ron – go get Art and Harry." A moment later, Ron stumbled from the hospital fireplace into the midst of chaos.

A lot of people seemed to be running. There was blood on the floor and two young men were being carried away using Mobilicorpus. A young witch in hospital staff robes approached Ron.

"Are you Mr. Weasley?"

Fred stepped out of the fireplace. "Ron?"

Ron looked at Fred and then at the young witch. "Where's my wife?"

"So you are Mr. Weasley?"

Ron nodded. A house elf was cleaning up the blood on the floor. A moment later the chaos stopped as though it had never happened. "Where's my wife?" Ron asked again.


	2. The Worst Accident in 150 Years

Chapter 2: The Worst Accident in 150 Years

Harry had just brought his class of 7th year Gryffindors and Slytherins to order when McGonagall appeared at the door.

"Professor Potter," she said in her prim voice, "a word, please."

Harry stepped out into the hall.

McGonagall was wringing her hands, which wasn't like her. "George Weasley just came to my office. There's been an accident. Hermione's been injured. They want you and Arthur at St. Mungo's right away."

"What happened?" Harry asked, not quite believing what he was hearing.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I don't know."

"Is George still here?"

"No, he's already left for hospital."

"Alright," Harry said, trying to get his thoughts together. "What do you want me to do about my class?"

"I'll take care of them. You collect Arthur and go."

Harry nodded and went back into the room. "Art, come with me."

Art looked at Emma, who shared his desk.

"Now, Art," Harry insisted.

Art grabbed his school bag and followed his uncle up the stairs into his office.

When Art stepped out of the fireplace into the lobby of St. Mungo's he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His uncles, Fred and George, with a great deal of effort, were holding his father back while his father was shouting expletives at a tall man he'd never seen before. The tall man was disturbingly covered in blood and looked like he felt he deserved the abuse Ron was heaping on him.

He felt his Uncle Harry push by him and run to stand in front of his father. Art dropped his bag and followed.

Harry stood between the two men. His mere presence seemed to calm Ron down some.

"What's going on here?" Harry demanded.

"That bastard lied to me is what! It's his fault Hermione's here. Can't you see him covered in her blood?" Ron growled straining against his brothers' hold.

Harry gave the man such a hard look that Art stepped back. "Is that true?" Harry asked quietly.

"It's true this is Hermione's blood," the tall man pushed his fingers through his hair, leaving streaks of blood on his forehead. He looked a bit ill.

"Look, my name is Thomas Greene, Hermione works for me. I assume you know where."

Harry nodded.

"I don't know what exactly happened today. There was an explosion…a magical explosion…it shouldn't have happened, the project was cleared…we'll have to investigate…but I swear to you, no one sent her to deal with this…I don't even know what she was doing there…but thank heavens she was."

Ron strained against his brothers as Harry held a hand against his chest and growled, "How's that?"

"The room was destroyed. Both of my other…employees…spliffed. Clearly, she controlled the blast, which is why…" he looked down at his bloody clothes and held out his hands. "It could have been so much worse, we could have lost that whole wing and who knows how many people. She --"

"Greene!" Someone shouted.

Art looked up to see a contingent of men in formal robes approaching. The one in the lead he recognized as the Minister of Magic. "Bloody hell, Greene, the worst accident in 150 years, 150 years! On my watch, damn you!"

"Minister," Greene mumbled.

The Minister held up his hand to silence him. "Not here." He turned to one of his subordinates, "Find us a meeting room." He looked at the Weasleys and Harry. "I'm so sorry for what's happened here today. Any word on how she is?"

Ron's fury seemed to have dissipated as Greene left with the contingent of men. He shook his head. "No."

The Minister cleared his throat. "Well, if there's anything I can do for you, just ask."

Ron nodded.

"Please keep me posted of her progress, Hermione's been a wonderful asset to the Ministry," he said. "Unfortunately, I have to go. The investigation into this incident can't wait."

Ron nodded again, but didn't really seem to acknowledge the Minister.

"Dad?" Art said softly.

Ron looked up.

A healer walked up then. "Excuse me," he said, "are you the Weasleys?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "How's Hermione?"

The healer frowned. "We've had to put her in stasis."

"Stasis? What's that mean?" Ron said.

"We've frozen time around her." The healer continued. "We've called in a healer that specializes in catastrophic magical accidents. She's with Mrs. Weasley now."

_Catastrophic_. Art didn't like the sound of that.

"When can I see her?" Ron asked.

"As soon as the healer finishes her assessment she'll be able to let you know."

When the healer left, Harry turned to Ron, "Come on, mate, let's have a seat."

Everyone migrated over to the waiting area. During the next 15 minutes, Art watched as his Aunt Ginny, his grandmother and his Aunt Angelina all came through the Floo. Everyone hugged each other and then proceeded to sit in strained silence as they waited for word.

The whole thing seemed kind of surreal to Art. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be doing something or saying something. His grandmother reached over and took his hand and gave it a squeeze. She smiled sadly at him. He drew comfort from her hand and continued to hold it.

An hour later another healer appeared. "Ron?"

Art sensed a new tension in the group.

Ron stood. "Michelle?"

Art was somewhat surprised when the healer put her arms around his dad.

"I'm the healer they brought in to treat your wife."

Ron's mouth opened but it took an extra moment for him to say, "How is she?"

"Sit down," Michelle said.

Ron sat obediently.

Michelle sat across from him on the coffee table and addressed all of them. "I'm not going to sugar coat this, it's bad. But it's not hopeless."

Art felt a hollow pit form in his stomach.

"What we need is blood from a female relative."

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley leaned forward.

Michelle smiled at them. "I appreciate your willingness to help, but it has to be a blood relative: mother, sister, daughter, niece, grandmother even."

Ron shook his head. "But she hasn't any."

Michelle looked surprised, "None at all?"

"No," Ron said, pushing his fingers through his hair. "We only have the one son," he looked at Art. "Her parent's have been dead for ages. She was an only child."

"What about grandparents? An aunt maybe?"

Ron shook his head again, "Her parents were both orphans. Hermione always speculated that they were squibs dumped by magical families, but she was never able to trace them in the magical or Muggle world."

Michelle scrubbed a hand down her face. "Then we have a problem."

"Does it have to be someone else's blood?" Art asked.

Michelle smiled kindly at him. "It has to be female."

"I'm not talking about me, I'm talking about Mum."

Michelle shook her head, "We can't use her blood. It's infused with the after effects of the explosion, that's why we need new blood to make a potion. Regular blood replenisher won't work. It would just make more bad blood."

"But would some of her blood from before work?" Art asked.

"Yes," Michelle said, "but I've already had the hospital bank checked. There isn't a sample on file."

"Well, Mum has a sample."

Everyone looked at him.

"What are you on about, Artie?" Ron asked.

"In her potions cabinet at home," Art explained. "Remember when I was helping her clean out her office?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah."

"Well there was this little vial labeled 'Virgin's Blood'. I teased her about running about bleeding virgins and she told me not to be ridiculous, that it was her blood."

Michelle arched an eyebrow.

"She said she saved it because she thought you might need some when you fought Voldemort, and she wanted to have it on hand." Art continued.

Ron looked at Harry. Harry shrugged.

"She said she'd never used it," Art finished.

Michelle looked at Art. "It must be a pretty old sample. Do you think it's still sealed?"

"Well, Mum sealed it," Art said indignantly.

"Then it's sealed," Harry and Ron both answered.

"Alright then," Michelle said. "Go get it."


	3. A Virgin's Blood

Chapter 3: A Virgin's Blood

Art appeared in his mother's study moments later. He was surprised that it looked so normal. For some reason, it seemed incongruous that his mother lay critically injured in hospital, but her study was the same cluttered collection of books and bottles and instruments that it had always been. He had to move two stacks of books and a large telescope to get into the potions cabinet. It only took him a minute to find the vial he was looking for. It was tucked in the back behind a bottle of Bubotuber pus. He picked up the little vial and looked at the dark red liquid within. The label on the front was printed in his mother's tidy script. He tucked the vial into his pocket and Apparated back to the hospital.

Ron turned to Michelle. "Can I see her?"

Michelle shook her head. "Ron, she's in stasis."

"I don't care. I just want to see her," Ron insisted.

"I don't think you understand. She's frozen in time exactly as she was when she came in. Her wounds are gaping, she's covered in blood. Why don't you—"

"I've seen her wounded and covered in blood. Who do you think brought her here the first time?"

Michelle tightened her lips, but she was saved from having to speak by Art's sudden reappearance.

He held out the vial to her. "Here it is."

Michelle took it and turned to Ron. "I have to get started on this right away. It takes twenty-four hours to brew." She turned to leave, but Ron grabbed her arm.

"Please Michelle. I know I've got no right asking you for favors, but please."

Michelle looked down at his hand on her arm and he dropped it. She sighed. "Let me have the house elves get her cleaned up and in a proper room and then you can see her. That's the best I can do."

Ron started to say something but stopped. He nodded.

Art stood looking at his father. _24 hours?_ No one else seemed surprised. "Dad?" Art said.

Ron turned to him and put his arm around Art's shoulder. "Brilliant, you remembering that vial of blood." Ron looked at Harry. "Did you know she'd done that?"

Harry shook his head. They both looked at Ginny, who also shook her head.

"It makes sense though," Harry said. "When it came to destroying the Horcruxes, we didn't know what all we'd need."

"Brilliant," Ron muttered, as he raked his fingers through his beard. Art watched as Ron went to sit down in the waiting area. It seemed like in the last few hours his father had aged 10 years.

A young healer came over with a long parchment and a quill and began asking all sorts of questions about Hermione's previous injuries.

Art listened intently as Ron answered questions about his mother. He knew most of the answers from reading about her injuries in **Who's Who Among Witches and Wizards**, but hearing his father talk about it was a completely different experience. The healer focused mostly on the scars and Art came to understand that when his mother attempted to control the explosion the magic had burst through her scars, leaving fresh wounds.

Ron explained about the scar on her chest that Dolohov's curse had left. He stumbled a bit when explaining the one on her side and Harry helped fill in the gaps. The healer asked for specific information: what kind of curse was she hit with, how long was it before she received medical attention? Neither time had Hermione been given immediate medical attention, which was part of the reason the scars were as bad as they were.

"What about the one on her left shoulder?" The healer asked.

Ron didn't say anything.

"Mr. Weasley?" The healer prompted.

Art looked at his father.

Ron cleared his throat. "I don't know. We weren't together when she got that, and she's never talked about it."

The healer pursed her lips. "Is there anyone who might know?"

Ron looked at Harry and Ginny. "She ever say anything to either of you?"

They both shook their heads.

The healer sighed. "This is really important. Knowing the curse that caused the initial scarring is critical in the second phase of potion development. We don't want to leave out a critical ingredient."

Ron scrubbed a hand down his face and then looked at Harry. "Do you mind, mate?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I'll go get him."

Art looked at his Aunt Ginny. "Who –"

She put a hand on his knee to still him and leaned over. "Viktor," she whispered.

Art watched in stunned silence as his Uncle disappeared with a pop.

Everyone sat in awkward silence. Ron had his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Art heard him mutter, "Fuck."

Several minutes later, Harry reappeared and the dark Bulgarian appeared next to him a few moments later.

Ron stood up and walked toward Viktor and Harry.

"Viktor," Ron extended his hand.

Viktor shook it, "Ron. How is Hermione? Have you seen her?"

"Not yet, and I'm about to go mad with the waiting."

Viktor nodded.

"Can you tell the healer about the scar on Hermione's shoulder?"

Viktor scratched at the late day stubble on his cheek. He looked at Art, then apologetically at Ron. "May we speak privately?" he asked the healer

The healer nodded. "Of course."

"Bloody hell," Ron said through clenched teeth, but he walked away.

Viktor frowned, but lead the healer away from the group.

Art watched in stunned silence as Viktor told the healer what had happened. He tried to figure out based on Viktor's hand gestures what he was saying, but it was useless. Art longed for a pair of his Uncles' extendable ears. A few minutes later, the healer left and Viktor came over to the waiting area and slouched into one of the chairs. Art was surprised to see he intended to stay.

Twenty minutes later a healer came and got Ron to finally see Hermione. Art watched his father walk away and wondered whether he should have offered to go with him.


	4. Snow White

Chapter 4: Snow White

Ron walked into the hospital room not knowing what to expect, but it certainly hadn't been this.

The house elves had done their job well. She was laid out on the narrow hospital bed with clean white sheets and a blanket covering her. Her shoulders were bare and she was completely still. She wasn't breathing or giving any other indication that she was alive. She'd lost so much blood that she was very pale and Ron had to keep reminding himself that he wasn't looking at her corpse. _Stasis_, he kept repeating in his head.

"You may touch her," the healer said, "but don't kiss her. That breaks the stasis."

Ron looked at him. "You mean like Snow White?"

The healer nodded eagerly. "Exactly. A lot of people don't understand that the witch in that story didn't really poison the apple…"

Ron tuned him out. "Bloody hell," he muttered and walked over to the bed. He slipped his fingers through hers. She was warm to the touch and that comforted him no end. "What have you done?" he whispered to her.

"She can't hear you," the healer said, startling Ron, who'd forgotten he was there. "You really should go home and try and get some sleep, it's not like she knows you're here."

Ron glared at him, unable to believe that someone would say something so incredibly stupid. "But I know," Ron said.

"As you wish." The healer nodded and left.

Ron sat down in the chair next to Hermione still holding her hand. "Bloody hell, Hermione, you're killing me." He looked around the small room. There wasn't much to it, just the bed and a couple of chairs with a small lavatory in one corner. There was a window, but it was dark outside so he couldn't really tell what kind of view she might have. There was a cupboard across from the bed next to the door and that was the extent of it. Everything was white. Ron found it unbearably bleak. He'd have to do some decorating if she was going to spend any amount of time here. She'd hate all this plain white.

He rubbed his thumb across hers. "I'll fix it up however you like once you're awake. I'm going to send everyone else home, but I'm staying. I'm going to leave for a bit but I'll be just outside, alright, I'll be back in a moment." As he stood, it was all he could do not to lean over and kiss her forehead.

He pushed his fingers through his hair and went back out to the waiting area.

Everyone looked up at him as he walked over to them.

"How is she?" Harry asked.

Ron tugged at his beard. "Not so bad. It's a lot like second year, actually."

Harry nodded.

"What?" Art asked.

Ginny walked away from the group and Harry gave Ron a pained look before following her.

"Ron," his mum chastised him.

"I'm sorry," Ron said, shaking his head. "I wasn't thinking."

"I'm confused," Viktor said.

"Me too," Art agreed.

"Your mum spent a good deal of our second year at Hogwarts petrified," Ron said.

"What?" Art started.

His grandmother patted his knee. "Another time, dear," she said.

"Look," Ron told the group, "You lot should just go home. She doesn't know anything that's going on around her. It's going to take 24 hours just to brew the potion. There's no sense everyone sitting around here all that time. I'll let everyone know the minute there's any change."

Everyone could see the sense in what he was saying, but seemed reluctant to leave anyway. It took almost an hour before they were all gone. Artie was the last to leave.

"I could stay Dad," he said. "I could keep you company."

Ron shook his head. "You should go back to school, get some sleep."

"What about you?" Art insisted.

"I'll just sleep here. I'm no good at sleeping without your mother anyway."

Art nodded and reluctantly took a handful of Floo powder. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dad."

Ron sighed. "You should go to class."

Art looked over his shoulder, and Ron recognized his determined expression as one of Hermione's. "I'll see you tomorrow," Art repeated. He flung the Floo powder into the flames. "Hogwarts!" he said, then stepped into the fireplace.

Ron dragged himself back to Hermione's room. His legs felt like lead. He hadn't felt this tired since the war. He pulled out his wand and transfigured the chair by her bed into a lounge chair. It occurred to him then to ask after her wand. He looked around the room but didn't see it. Actually, there was nothing of Hermione's in the room, not even her clothes. She'd want him to hold on to her wand for safekeeping. "I'll be right back, luv," he told her prone form.

He stepped into the hall and flagged down the first person in medical robes that walked by. "Hullo," Ron said.

"What can I do for you Mr. Weasley?" the healer asked.

"I'm looking for my wife's things, her clothes, her wand."

The healer smiled, "They should be in her room, did you check the cupboard?"

Ron nodded, "I looked but I didn't see anything."

The healer stepped into the room and Ron followed. The healer checked the cupboard, which irritated Ron, but he didn't say anything. Upon finding nothing, the healer picked up the piece of parchment at the end of Hermione's bed. He read for a moment before saying, "Oh, I see."

"What?" Ron asked.

"Her clothes were considered a total loss and her wand was shattered in the accident." He put the parchment back and walked out as though nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

"Shattered?" Ron repeated and suddenly found himself needing to sit down. _What kind of force must it take to shatter a wand? That same force ripped through Hermione._ Ron was hit with the enormity of what had happened all at once. Fear swept through him, leaving him shaky and weak. He was suddenly faced with the reality that he really might not get her back this time.


	5. Walk Like a Man

Chapter 5: Walk Like a Man

Art walked into the Gryffindor common room to find it empty. He assumed everyone was in the Great Hall eating dinner. He took his things to his rooms and then went to get something to eat; he hadn't eaten since breakfast and found that he was suddenly famished.

Emma was sitting at the end of the Ravenclaw table eating alone and reading a book. Art smiled to see her. He liked the way her silky blonde hair caught the candlelight and blended with the gold in her school robes. He liked the way she stroked the feather end of her quill across her lips as she read. Actually, it had been that gesture that had first caught his eye last year. It seemed like a really sexy thing for someone so profoundly intellectual to do. Art sat down opposite her and took two chicken legs, a pile of mashed potatoes and some green beans from the trays in the center of the table. He noticed her own partially consumed chicken dinner had been pushed to the side in favor of her book.

Emma looked up as he sat down. "Hullo. Is everything all right? You never came back to class."

Art looked down at his plate. "My mum is in hospital."

"Oh, no!" Emma said resting her hand on his forearm. "Is she alright?"

Art shook his head. "No, no she isn't."

Emma's sympathetic expression was almost more than he could bear.

"I'm so sorry. What happened?"

Art pushed at the potatoes on his plate. "There was an accident, a magical explosion. She contained it but got really hurt in the process. They have her in stasis while they brew this special potion to replace her blood."

"I'm so sorry," Emma repeated. "Is there anything I can do?"

Art pushed his fingers through his hair. "Actually, do you think you could collect my homework for me? I'm going back to St. Mungo's tomorrow."

"Of course. I'll bring it to you after class."

"You know, I should probably get to work on today's assignments." He stood to leavebut felt a hand on his arm.

"Art you haven't eaten anything." Emma said.

Art looked at his plate. He took a chicken leg. "I'll just take this with me."

"Alright," Emma said softly, "I'll see you at rounds."

Art nodded. "Sure."

"I'll come to your room then."

"Sure," Art said and walked away. A sudden lump had formed in his throat.

There was a light knock on the door, and Ron looked up. "Come in," he called.

Harry pushed the door open. "Hey."

"Hey. What are you doing back here?"

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. "I just…" he looked at Hermione, "needed to see her."

Ron nodded, "Sure." He stood. "Actually, since you're here. I think I'll stretch my legs and go get some coffee. Would you like anything?"

"No," Harry said. "I'm fine, you go ahead."

Harry took Ron's seat next to Hermione and Ron closed the door behind him.

"Well," Harry said to Hermione, "you've looked better." Although, he wished Ron hadn't said it, he could see the disturbing similarities to when she'd been petrified second year. Harry slipped his hand into hers. "We can't lose you like this," he said. "It's not right." He sat quietly holding her hand until Ron came back.

When Ron stepped back into the room, Harry stood. "I should be getting back to Ginny."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, listen mate, I'm really sorry about what I said earlier. I wasn't thinking."

Harry shrugged. "It's alright, Ginny knows you didn't mean anything by it, but I doubt you'll see her until Hermione's awake. I don't think she could stand seeing her like this."

"Sure," Ron said.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

Ron shook his head. "No," he said, looking at Hermione. "We're fine."

"I'll come back tomorrow after work. If you think of anything you need before then, owl me."

"Yeah, alright." Ron sat down next to Hermione.

Harry clasped him on the shoulder. "Try and get some sleep, yeah?"

Ron nodded and Harry pulled his wand out to Apparate. "Goodnight then," he said before disappearing.

Art had read the same page of his Arithmancy text six times when there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," he called and set the book aside. It was a waste of time trying to read anyway.

Emma stuck her head in. "You ready for rounds?"

Art stood and stretched his back. "Yeah, let's go."

They walked in comfortable silence through the halls of Hogwarts and Art was thankful that Emma understood his need for quiet. As an only child, Art often found himself needing time apart and Emma always seemed to understand and respect that. It amazed him that being with her could be as comfortable as being alone, only better. He smiled at the thought.

When they finished rounds, he walked her back to her rooms.

She looked up at him shyly. "Did you want to come in? You can if you want."

Art did want, but he knew his emotions were kind of strung tight right now and he didn't wand to end up blubbering like a girl in front of his girl.

"No," he said, pushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "I better not. If they need me, I better be in my own rooms."

Emma nodded, but she leaned up and kissed him softly on the lips then wrapped him in a hug. He hugged her back, pressing his face into her neck for longer than he meant to, feeling his throat tighten. He pulled away before he embarrassed himself.

"Try and get some sleep," Emma said, pressing her palm to his cheek. "You look knackered."

"Yeah," Art said, scrubbing his hand down his face. "It's been a long day."

"Goodnight then," Emma said.

Art stood and watched as she closed her door. Part of him wanted to knock and tell her he'd changed his mind, but he thought better of it and dragged himself back to his rooms. As he was changing into his pajamas he caught sight of a picture of him and his parents on his dresser. It was taken during the summer a couple of years before. Art was patting his mum on the head as he had finally overtaken her in height and his father was laughing. His mother had an exaggerated frown as she pushed his hand away. Of course, now he towered over her by several inches and was almost as tall as his dad. He couldn't believe that now, just as he was starting to appreciate his parents as people, he was in danger of losing one of them. It just didn't seem fair.


	6. A Lot of Magical Damage

Chapter 6: A Lot of Magical Damage

Art got up early the next morning. He made his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

He was starving and shoveled eggs, bacon, sausage and beans on to his plate and ate it all with two pieces of toast covered in treacle. On impulse, he made a bacon and egg sandwich, wrapped it in a napkin and stuffed it in his school bag in case he wanted it later.

He knocked on Professor McGonagall's office door and asked to take the Floo from there; he was given permission and arrived at the hospital a few minutes later. The clerk at reception gave him his mother's room number. He walked slowly down the hallway.

He hadn't seen her yet and he wasn't really sure how he felt about seeing her now. He was terrified that she would look awful and he wouldn't be able to handle it. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to buck up; he needed to be strong for Dad. He knocked softly on the door. He was surprised when his grandmother opened it.

"Oh, Artie," she said. "Come in, dear." She hugged him warmly and he took the time to hug her back, his eyes closed. He wanted a few more moments before he had to look at his mother.

When he came out of the hug, Art took in the room all at once. His mother was deathly still on the bed, the covers pulled up under her arms, which were a sickly pale color. His father held one of her hands and looked like hell.

"Hullo, Dad," Art said.

Ron looked up at him slowly. "Hullo, son."

His grandmother took her seat in the corner of the room and resumed knitting.

Art set his school bag down and went over to his mother's other side. He took a deep breath and slipped his hand around hers. To his relief, her fingers were warm in his hand. He sighed and pulled his hand back. He looked at his father.

"Have you slept at all?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I'm alright."

"Have you eaten?"

Ron shook his head again. "Not hungry."

Art went over to his school bag and fished out the sandwich. "I brought this from breakfast," he said. He touched his wand to it and recited a slight heating charm and handed it to his father.

Ron took it. "Thanks," he said.

Art was relieved to see him take a bite before setting the sandwich on the bedside table. For the next several hours, Art sat reading his textbooks and watched various members of his family take turns coming and going. Finally at six o'clock, his Uncle George left and his Uncle Harry arrived.

Harry looked at Ron. "You look worse than Hermione."

Ron looked up at him and scowled. "Don't make jokes."

Harry looked at him over his glasses. "Who's joking?"

Ron snorted and turned away.

"Have you eaten anything?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Art brought me a sandwich from Hogwarts."

Harry looked at him and then at Art. "Would that be the sandwich there on the bedside table?"

Art nodded.

"It looks hours old, Ron, and there's only one bite out of it," Harry observed.

"I'm not hungry," Ron mumbled.

"Have you slept at all?"

"What do you want from me, Harry?" Ron suddenly growled.

Harry was un-phased. "I want you not to kill yourself before Hermione wakes up."

Ron scrubbed a hand down his face and over his beard. "I'm fine."

There was a knock on the door.

The doctor Art remembered his father calling "Michelle" came into the room.

Ron stood to face her. "Is the potion ready?"

Michelle nodded. "We're going to administer it tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."

"Why can't we do it now?" Ron practically shouted and Art stood, unsure as to whether it was to support his father or to hold him back.

"Look, Ron," the healer said. "This isn't something you want to rush, alright. We get one shot at this. I've called in a couple of healers I've worked with before. They're arriving tonight and I want them rested and ready for tomorrow."

It bothered Art that the healer kept calling his father by his first name. It seemed too casual under such dire circumstances.

"Why did you have to send away for healers, what's wrong?" Ron asked, clearly alarmed.

"This is going to take precision. I want to work with a team I've worked with before. I want everyone rested and fed and caffeinated before we start. There's no room for error. I'm going to need you as part of the team, which means I need you to go home and get some sleep to be ready for tomorrow."

Ron scrubbed a hand over his face. "What do I have to do?"

"Alright," Michelle conjured a chair and sat down. Ron, Harry and Art all sat down in their own chairs. "You have two jobs. First you have to kiss her and wake her up. You'll need to linger a moment and you need to think of how much you love her as you kiss her. That's what breaks the spell."

"Like Snow White?" Harry asked.

"Exactly," Michelle said.

"That won't be a problem," Ron said. "What's my other job?"

"As soon as she comes out of stasis, the other healers will start weaving together her wounds. There will be one healer per scar, plus me. Once the wounds are sealed it will be our job to give her the potion."

Ron shook his head, "But, why –"

"This is all going to happen very fast or she'll bleed out before we can give her the potion. There won't be time for numbing charms. She's going to be screaming."

Art felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

Harry sat back in his chair as though he'd suffered a blow and all the blood rushed from his face.

Ron hung his head. "Alright then."

"So as you can see," Michelle continued, "I need you on top of your game. I want you to go home and take a dreamless sleep draught and don't come back here until tomorrow morning." She handed him a small brown vial.

Ron looked at it and then at Hermione. "I can't leave her here like this. She'd hate that, being so vulnerable."

"I'll stay," Harry said softly.

"No, mate," Ron said, shaking his head.

"I'll stay." Harry said more firmly. "You need to be able to help her tomorrow. Let me look after her tonight."

"I could stay," Art said.

"No," Harry said. "You take your Dad home, see that he eats dinner and takes his draught."

Art nodded.

Ron tugged on his beard and continued looking at Hermione. "You won't leave her?" he asked without looking at Harry.

"You know I won't," Harry said.

Ron nodded. He looked at Michelle. "How long will it take for the potion to work?"

"Assuming everything goes according to plan, at least a day, probably longer. She'll likely drop into a coma after taking it."

"For how long?" Art asked.

Michelle shook her head. "Could be days, could be weeks. Her body needs time to replace the blood and recover from the shock. There's no telling how long that will take."

Art swallowed hard trying to push back the lump that had formed in his throat. He was a man now. This was no time to cry.

"She's clearly taken a lot of magical damage over the years," Michelle said. "Her recovery is likely to take awhile and she'll be off a wand for a long time too."

Ron dropped his face into his hands. He sat that way for a minute before looking up. "Alright then. I guess we should be going, Art."

Everyone stood.

"I'll see you in the morning," Michelle said before she left.

Ron nodded to Harry and Art wondered at the unspoken agreement between his father and his uncle. All day long family members had been coming and going, but none of them spoke to his father with the same casual authority that his Uncle Harry did. Art knew that his parents and his uncle Harry had been through a lot together, but it was at times like this that their bond really showed. Art walked out with his father toward the fireplace in the lobby knowing full well that his father wouldn't have left his mother with anyone but Harry.


	7. Getting Lucky

Chapter 7: Getting Lucky

When they arrived back home, Ron slumped into his favorite leather chair in front of the fireplace while Art went to find Winky. She was in the kitchen stirring an enormous cauldron of beef stew.

"Oh, Master Artie," Winky sobbed. "How is Miss?"

Art sighed and put his hand on the little elf's shoulder. "Not well. They have her in stasis. It all comes down to tomorrow's procedure."

"Is there anything Winky can do, sir?"

Art sighed. "Can I get a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches to go with that stew and some pumpkin juice?"

A few minutes later he was carrying a tray with dinner on it into the parlor. Art used his wand to light the fire and took his mother's chair next to his father. They ate in stunned silence and watched the logs get slowly consumed into ash.

Harry settled himself next to Hermione in the chair Ron had occupied all day. He made a half-hearted attempt to read a magazine, but his mind kept wandering. Unbidden memories of their friendship over the years kept surfacing. He wanted to focus on the happy times, but those weren't what kept coming to mind. He thought about her telling on him for having the Firebolt. He thought about how shocked she'd been when she thought he'd used the Felix Felicis to help Ron in Quiddich, and how hurt she'd been when Harry had told the truth and Ron had accused her of not believing in him. Oddly, he kept remembering how much she hated flying and how many times she'd done it anyway.

"You're pretty tough," he mumbled. "You can get through this."

Then he started thinking about every time he'd ever seen her embarrassed. It didn't happen often, hardly ever after school. He remembered how humiliated she'd been when he showed up in London unannounced and she'd been up partying all night with Viktor, but that was nothing compared to how embarrassed she'd been the time he walked in on her and Ron.

Ron and Hermione's physical relationship was still relatively new at the time, as was the hunt for the Horcruxes. Harry had gotten up to go to bed, but as he'd settled under the covers, he'd suddenly remembered something he'd forgotten to tell them. He hurried back to find Hermione on her knees in front of Ron. Stupidly, he'd at first though she was just resting her head in his lap, but Ron's open shirt and the look of ecstasy on his face told a different story. He'd actually started to say, "I forgot…" when it registered what was happening. Time froze. Harry couldn't get out of the room fast enough and the subsequent fight he and Ron had was among the worst in all their years of friendship.

It had been an awful week anyway. Nothing had worked according to plan and everything had been a huge waste of time. Harry had been on edge. None of them had slept very much and they were all feeling the strain of defeat. Ron had pulled himself together and followed Harry, and to Harry's thorough shame, he'd turned on Ron in a rage. He could still hear every awful, unfair word he'd said.

"I cannot believe you!" He'd shouted. "I'm trying to find the Horcruxes and all you care about is your bloody cock!"

"Harry, you walked in on us! Without knocking!" Ron shouted.

"I forgot something I needed to tell you, not that you care anyway!"

Ron clenched his fists. "Of course we care, we're here aren't we?"

"Oh you're here, but is it to help me or just to get time alone with Hermione?" Harry accused.

Ron threw up his hands. "What are you talking about? That's the first time we've…well…in over a week."

"Bollocks!" Harry spat. "You sleep with her every night."

"Yeah!" Ron shouted, "The operative word there being sleep."

"But you get to be with her! You get everything!"

"What? Are you jealous?" Ron was clearly flabbergasted, which is when Harry launched himself at him and the next thing he knew he was shoving Ron. And then Ron had caught him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Physically outmatched Harry came back with the only thing he had, "Does she get anything out of it, or is just see to Ron's needs, so he'll go to bed without a fuss?"

That's when Ron's fist connected with Harry's nose. Harry reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose subconsciously as he remembered the pain, the crunching sound, and the warm gush of blood that followed.

"Stop!" Hermione had shouted from the door. Her face was positively crimson. "Please stop."

Ron let go of Harry's shirt, and both of them stood staring at the floor, chagrined.

"We need to go back," Hermione had continued. "We can't fight among ourselves and make this happen." She'd pulled out her wand and did a basic healing spell on Harry's nose. The relief was immediate. "Our current line of inquiry isn't getting us anywhere. We need to do more research and we need a break." She put her hand on Ron's arm. "Go to bed," she said softly. "I'll be there in a minute."

Ron opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it and left.

Hermione turned to Harry. She was still very red-faced, and it looked like she was fighting back tears. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she'd said quietly, "Ron is very considerate of me and I don't ever do anything I don't want to do with him."

"Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry said, wiping at the blood on his face with his sleeve.

"Yeah," she said without looking at him. "Me too."

The next morning Hermione and Harry had woken first and spent an awkward, silent half hour drinking coffee and blushing before Ron woke up. He'd poured himself a cup of coffee and then looked at them both as he heated it with his wand. "Good thing we're all so close," he announced with a grin. "Or this could be awkward."

It had broken the ice and he and Hermione had both laughed. They'd gone on to do great things: awful, horrible, great things.

As the moon began to rise, Harry remembered a spring day when Clive was a toddler and Art was just starting to walk. They had been at Bill's, and Fleur had taken her girls in to get changed, so it was just Hermione and Ginny out on the lawn with their sons. He and Ron had been standing on the deck leaning over the balcony, watching them.

"How did we get so lucky?" Ron had asked.

Harry shook his head in the hospital as he looked at Hermione. He didn't know the answer then, and he still didn't. He reached over and took her hand.

Art was relieved when his father finally took the sleeping draught and went to bed. He remained watching the fire. He knew he should go to bed, but he was too restless to sleep and too tired to get up and do anything else. Winky had fussed over him a bit while she cleared the dinner dishes, but she finally relented and went off to her own tiny room in the broom cupboard. Technically, there was a full sized bedroom for her on the second floor, but she never slept there.

Art was startled when Emma's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Art?" she asked.

"Em?" Art said back.

A moment later Emma was stumbling from the fireplace and coughing. "I hate the Floo," she grumbled.

"What are you doing here?" Art asked, standing.

Emma was brushing herself off. "You didn't come back to school. I went to St. Mungo's and your uncle told me you'd brought your dad home to get some sleep." She looked up at him, "I just…wanted to see if you were alright." She looked somewhat sheepish.

Art sighed and held out his arms and she stepped in to hug him. He marveled at the comfort of holding her. Suddenly, his day didn't seem so bad. She smelled of roses, India ink, and Floo powder and he wanted nothing more than to melt into her and make the whole bloody week disappear.

She rubbed her hand up his chest. "I know I should have owled first, but you seemed so distraught last night, I --"

Art leaned down and kissed her. Suddenly, he needed to feel the warmth of her lips against his like he needed his next breath. When he finally pulled away from her, he asked, "Can you stay?"

Emma nodded. "I told McGonagall I'd be gone this weekend."

"Did you say where?" Art asked with trepidation. Their relationship, or at least the extent of it, wasn't exactly public knowledge.

"I told her my parents needed me home because my aunt was visiting."

"But --" Art started.

"My aunt really is visiting, and my parents agreed to let me come home," Emma smiled. "I actually arranged this weeks ago, and I'm sure I'll make it home tomorrow morning."

Art smiled back at her. "Tomorrow, eh?"

Emma's cheeks went pink. "I mean, I could go now, I suppose."

Art closed his hand around hers. "I don't think so," he said. "Let me give you the ten Knut tour. We can start with my bedroom."

Emma pulled back. "What about your dad?"

"He took a sleeping draught. I'll set the alarm and we'll get you out of here before anyone's the wiser." He winked. "If that's alright with you?"


	8. Aren't You Head Girl?

Chapter 8: Aren't You Head Girl?

Art woke with Emma warm and naked nestled against him. He looked over at the alarm clock. It would go off in ten minutes. He sighed. He always woke up before the alarm went off. He leaned over to turn it off and Emma murmured something and pushed herself up on one elbow.

She opened one eye and looked at him. "Is it time to get up?"

"We've got a few minutes," Art said. He leaned in to kiss her but she pulled her head back.

"Come on, Art, I've got morning breath."

"Fine," he said, and leaned down and kissed her breast instead. "Hmm, let's see, where else could I kiss?" He started to scoot down.

"Oh, no," Emma said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "I have to go."

"Nooo," Art moaned, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Don't go yet."

Emma struggled to stand. "Art, come on, I need to get out of here before your Dad wakes up."

"Dad always sleeps until at least eight o'clock, it's not even six now," Art whined.

"Art please, I told my parents I'd be home early this morning."

He rested his forehead against the small of her back and kissed the base of her spine. "I don't want this day to start," he said softly.

She turned and ran her fingers through his hair. "I know, but we can't stop it."

Art flopped over on his back and blew out a frustrated breath. "I know."

He watched as Emma got dressed. She was buttoning her shirt when she asked, "When is your mum's procedure?"

"Ten o'clock."

"How long will it take?"

"From the way it sounded, it'll be pretty quick." He was embarrassed that his voice broke and he could feel tears well up in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said and turned his head away from her. He could feel Emma kneel on the bed and lean over him.

"Hey," she said. "You don't ever have to be sorry for loving your mum. What kind of person would you be, if this didn't upset you?"

"A manlier sort of person," Art joked as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

Emma held his face, turning it toward her. She pressed her lips firmly against his. "If you got any more manly, I don't think I could walk." She grinned at him.

He grabbed her and hugged her fiercely. "I love you so much, Emma Silsbury."

She laughed. "I love you too, Arthur Weasley, now let me go before I'm late."

He pulled on his pajama bottoms to walk her down to the fireplace.

"Oh drat," Emma said as she started down the stairs. "What did I do with my tie?"

Art turned back to get it off the top of his dresser while Emma headed downstairs.

Ron woke to the unpleasant sensation of cotton-mouth. His tongue felt like it was stuck to his teeth. He got out of bed and pulled on his pajama bottoms and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He didn't feel like a simple cleaning charm would do the trick.

He looked in the mirror to see his hair sticking out in all directions. He noted it needed cutting. His beard looked as through rats were nesting in it. "Well, aren't you a handsome devil?" he told his image.

The mirror laughed at him. "You've looked better, mate."

"Sod off, you," Ron grumbled and walked back into the bedroom.

"Don't blame me," the mirror called after him. "I just call them like I see them."

"Fine, I'll get a glass of water in the kitchen," Ron called back.

He walked down the hall toward the stairs to find a young blonde in a Ravenclaw uniform descending them. Her shirt was un-tucked, and her jumper was over her arm.

"Hullo," Ron said.

Clearly startled, the girl turned to face him and all the color drained from her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but although her lips were moving no sound came out.

"Aren't you Head Girl at Hogwarts?" Ron asked.

Tears welled up in the girl's eyes and Ron started to worry she might hyperventilate. Then he heard the thundering of Art's footsteps on the stairs and then Art was standing in front of the girl, a Ravenclaw tie in his hand.

"Dad, you're up," Art panted.

"Yes," Ron said. He cocked his head to the side and looked at the girl.

"Um, this is Emma, Emma Silsbury. She…she's my girlfriend…she…" Art froze.

"Seems to be in a hurry," Ron finished for him.

"Yes," Art practically shouted. "She is, so I'll just see her out then."

"Nice to meet you, Emma," Ron said, feeling somewhat surreal in nothing but his pajama bottoms, with his hair sticking out in all directions, meeting the girl his son was clearly shagging. The girl he didn't even know Art was dating. He wondered fleetingly if Hermione knew.

The girl nodded awkwardly, tears now streaming down her face.

"I'll see you in the kitchen, Artie," Ron said as he moved past them and continued down the stairs.

Winky greeted him in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Mr. Weezy," she said. "What can I gets you for breakfast?"

"Just a couple of glasses of pumpkin juice, Winky, and then I'm going to need to speak to Art alone."

"Of course, Mr. Weezy," Winky nodded. She set two glasses of juice on the table and disappeared.

Ron sipped his juice and tried to think what to say to Art. He realized what he wanted most was to talk about this to Hermione before he talked to Art. He put his forehead down on the table. He felt in no way prepared for what he had to face today and this girl situation wasn't helping.

"Dad?" Art said as he took a tentative step into the kitchen.

Ron looked up. "You're shagging the Head Girl?" _Ironic_, he thought.

Art swallowed. "Well, yeah." 

"Well, yeah? That's all you have to say?" Ron looked at him.

Art pushed his fingers through his curly red hair. Ron noted Art needed a haircut too, but Hermione always took care of that. "She's a great girl, Dad, really tops."

"She must be," Ron said. "For you to be shagging her today, today of all days, with your mother lying half dead in hospital."

"I'm sorry, Dad," Art said with tears in his eyes. "She came over last night because she was worried about me. It's my fault she stayed. I asked her to. I don't want you to think that she --"

Ron shook his head. "I don't think anything." He was surprised to find he really didn't care. "I'm sure she's a great girl. You're being careful?"

"Of course," Art answered.

"Of course," Ron said. He finished the last swallow of his juice. "You're just like your mother."

"What?" Art asked, clearly confused.

"There was never a crisis she didn't want to be shagged in the middle of." He was amused by the look of horror on Art's face. "I'm going to take a shower. I've got to get back to St. Mungo's."


	9. A Hoarse Whispered Cry

Chapter 9: A Hoarse Whispered Cry

Art convinced Ron to eat breakfast before they left the house; he managed to choke down some scrambled eggs and a cup of coffee. They arrived at St. Mungo's just before seven o'clock.

Harry looked like he had indeed sat up with Hermione all night without sleeping. He was still in the chair by her bed when Ron and Art came in.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said putting his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"No problem," Harry said, standing and stretching his back.

"You going to head home?" Ron asked.

"No, I think I'll stick around. Ginny should be here in a bit."

Ron nodded and took the chair by Hermione.

The family started arriving around nine o'clock and took turns coming in to greet Ron and Art before returning to the waiting area, which had to be expanded by house elves to accommodate everyone.

Finally, at ten o'clock Michelle and her team came in. She introduced Ron to the healers, indicated which healer would weave which wound, and then went over again what she needed Ron to do.

Ron turned to Art. "You better wait outside, Artie."

Art nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ron looked at Michelle. She pulled a small bottle from the pocket of her robes. There appeared to be several ounces of dark red liquid swirling around inside the glass.

"It looks like blood," Ron commented.

"It basically is blood," Michelle said. "Blood imbued with a life elixir. It'll replace the tainted blood in her system and help her body make new blood to replace what she's lost."

Ron looked at her. "How much does she need to drink?"

"All of it. Are you ready?"

Ron nodded. Michelle looked at the other healers. "Ready?"

They all drew their wands.

"Kiss her," Michelle said.

Ron closed his eyes and brought his love for Hermione to the front of his mind. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. As Michelle had instructed, he lingered a bit. He backed out of the kiss when he felt her surge forward. He caught her to keep her from lurching off the side of the bed. He expected her to scream. Michelle had said she would, but he found the hoarse whispered cry that issued forth from her unnerving. Hermione gripped his arms, her eyes wild. Behind him Ron could hear the healers casting their suturing spells. The one working on her shoulder finished first and cried, "Done!"

"It's alright, luv," Ron said in Hermione's ear. "I need you to pay attention. Hermione!"

She looked at him. Her nose was bleeding.

"In a minute, I'm going to give you a potion to drink. I want you to just open your throat and swallow. I need you to try and relax and do what I say. It's very important you drink this potion. You're going to be all right. Do you understand?"

She blinked and Ron noticed her ears were bleeding too.

The second healer, who was stitching together the wound on her chest, shouted, "Done!"

Ron looked over at the third healer who was working on the considerably larger wound on her side. He was sweating and chanting very fast. The gold strings flying from his wand were winding their way around the wound drawing the flesh together.

"We're losing time," Michelle said, her eyes on the clock over the bed.

The first healer stepped forward and began to cast at the bottom of the wound, working his sutures up as the other sutures came down. Moments later the wound was sealed and they both stepped back. "Done!" They shouted in unison.

Michelle uncorked the potion and held it to Hermione's lips.

"It's time to drink, luv," Ron whispered in Hermione's ear. She looked at him, her whole body was trembling, but she opened her mouth. She did as Ron had told her to do and as the last drop left the bottle, her eyes rolled back and she passed out.

Ron gently lowered her back on to the bed and pulled the sheet back up to cover her. He looked at Michelle who was taking Hermione's pulse. She pulled up Hermione's eyelids and then lit her wand to look in her ears and nose. She turned to the other healers, "I'm going to need an ear, nose and throat specialist. And go ahead and send in the house elves." The first healer left.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked, trying to push down the panic that was threatening to rise.

"Nothing," Michelle said. "I should have thought of this before, but the magic took easy paths out of her body, all the obvious exits. I was so focused on getting those curse scars closed back up, I didn't consider…but her nose and throat are burned, her eardrums have burst." She turned to the two remaining healers. "Let's get a digestive healer and a witch's

healer in here too." The second healer left.

Michelle looked at Ron and rested a hand on his forearm. "It's fine, Ron. These are quick fixes. Actually…" She turned to the remaining healer. "Let's get a full work up done on her. I want a full history. Anything that isn't working at peak efficiency, I want fixed. If she's got so much as tooth decay, I want it cured. She needs all her strength focused on replenishing blood, I don't want any of her energy spent on other problems." The other remaining healer left the room.

Michelle smiled kindly at Ron. "The procedure was a success. Now we wait."

Ron pushed a stray curl off Hermione's forehead. "How long do you suppose she'll be out?"

Michelle sighed. "There's no way to know for sure. I would think a minimum of 24 hours, probably more."

Ron opened the door and went out to the waiting room. Behind him he could hear Michelle call his name, but he wanted to tell the family what had happened. When he rounded the corner to the waiting area he heard a collective gasp.

"The procedure worked," he announced to a sea of anxious faces. "She's unconscious but breathing on her own."

There was a collective sigh of relief.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into his mother's red-rimmed eyes. "Oh, Ron, looking at you, I thought the worst."

Ron looked down at himself. He was soaked in blood. "Oh," he said and slid down the wall.


	10. An Uncomfortable History

Chapter 10: An Uncomfortable History

Fred and George reached Ron first and helped him to a chair in the waiting area.

"Put your head between your knees," Ginny instructed. "Take slow, deep breaths."

"We need to get him cleaned up." His mother said. "Angelina, could you find a house elf?"

"That's alright, Angelina," Ron could hear Michelle say. He looked up at her. "I tried to get you to wait and get cleaned up before you came out here," she told him, putting her hands on her hips.

An elf stood before Ron and held out his tiny hands. A moment later, the blood disappeared as though it had never been there. The elf disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

"How is she?" Harry asked Michelle.

"We'll have to wait and see," Michelle answered honestly. "But the procedure went

about as smoothly as it could have and that's always a good sign. I have some other healers in with her now. As soon as they're done with their assessment you can see her."

Harry nodded and everyone sat back down.

"Ron," Michelle said, "when you're ready, I need to go over some of Hermione's medical history with you."

Ron sighed. "I'm ready." He got up and followed her down the hall to her office.

She took her seat behind a large metal desk, and Ron sat in front of her in a plain, gray chair. The whole room looked very sterile and he was reminded of how different Michelle was from Hermione.

"So," Michelle started, "I sent to Hogwarts for Hermione's health records and I have the ones from her regular healer, but there are holes. I don't have any early childhood records except these little cards that look like they come from a Muggle healer and then she didn't start seeing Healer Anderson until she was 23, so I need to fill in the gap. Do you know who her healer was during that time?"

Ron shook his head. "Viktor might know."

"Is he here?"

"Yeah," Ron said, standing. "I'll go get him."

Ron walked slowly out to the waiting area. He hated this. He no longer hated Viktor, but he still hated that he knew things about Hermione that Ron didn't. He stuck his head around the corner of the waiting area. Viktor was slumped on a couch in the corner with Gabrielle. Their youngest daughter was sleeping on his lap. "Viktor," Ron called. "Michelle needs to ask you some questions."

Viktor looked up at him. He gently moved his daughter to her mother's lap. He kissed Gabrielle on top of her head, touched his daughter's cheek and then followed Ron back to Michelle's office.

Michelle introduced herself and shook Viktor's hand.

"Viktor Krum," he said.

Michelle's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Yes, I know," she said. "Please have a seat."

Viktor looked at Ron and sat down.

Ron took the other chair and waited while Michelle switched to a clean sheet of parchment.

"Can you tell me who Hermione's healer was when you were together?"

"She went to my healer, Krastevich."

"Alright," Michelle said, scribbling on the parchment, which she then sealed with a Healer's seal. Ron noticed for the first time the large white owl on a stand in the corner of her office. Michelle tied the parchment to the owl's leg and sent him to find Healer Krastevich. "Did she see him the entire time you were together?"

"She," Viktor corrected. "Healer Krastevich is a witch."

Michelle nodded. "Did Hermione see any other healers?"

Viktor shook his head. "No."

"I just have a few more questions." She looked at Ron and raised her eyebrows.

Ron shrugged. "He should stay in case there's anything else."

Michelle nodded and sat down. She shifted the parchment in front of her. She looked at Ron. "You only have the one child. Was that the only pregnancy?"

"Yes."

"No," said Viktor.

Ron looked at him. "What?"

Viktor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He cleared his throat. "She lost a baby when she was 20. It was very early." He looked at Ron. "We hadn't told anyone."

Ron sat back in his chair and tried to school his thoughts. How could she not have told him something like that?

Michelle seemed to sense the tension in the room. "Alright, does Hermione smoke?"

"No."

"Yes," said Viktor.

Ron glared at him.

"She used to smoke," Viktor corrected.

"A lot?" Michelle asked.

"Yes," Viktor said.

Ron felt his jaw clench.

"Then we'll need to check her lungs," Michelle made a note on the parchment.

"What about drinking? Does she drink?"

Ron looked over at Viktor and narrowed his eyes. Viktor shifted again in his chair.

"Yes," Ron said. "But not any more," he amended. "She hardly ever takes a drink these days."

Michelle made another note on her parchment. "We'll still check her liver. Drug use?"

Ron couldn't stand it anymore, got up and left the room. He avoided the waiting area and walked outside into a courtyard and took deep gulping breaths of air. He didn't want this. He couldn't be angry at her right now. He needed to let this go. The door to the courtyard opened behind him.

"Ron," Harry asked. "Is everything alright?"

Ron shook his head. He couldn't speak. This was too much. There was too much coming at him all at once. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams. He wanted the whole last week back. He wanted Hermione, as she had been the morning before the accident, happy and full of life. She'd been in such a good mood. They'd talked about taking a long weekend at the shore at the end of the month. He wanted that back. He didn't want her lying unconscious in a hospital bed. He wanted her back in his bed, where she belonged. He didn't want to know about any lost baby or smoking and drugs. He wanted his wife back damn it, and he wanted it right now.

Harry stood next to him, his hands in his pockets, and waited.


	11. Other Lovers

Chapter 11: Other Lovers

Harry and Ron stood in the courtyard for a long time before the door opened again. It was Michelle.

She handed Ron a roll of parchment and a quill. "Ron, I need your written permission to perform the other procedures."

Ron looked at the top of the parchment, but the words blurred. He turned around and looked at her. "What other procedures?"

"I want her heart, lungs and liver checked. Considering the proclivities of her youth and the amount of damage she's already suffered, I think it a wise precaution."

Ron shook his head. "Proclivities. You don't have to say it like that."

"Ron," Michelle said, her voice a clear warning.

"She was young," Ron continued, ignoring her. "She was hurting. She made some bad decisions. We all did." It seemed to Harry like Ron was talking more to himself than to Michelle.

"Yes, well, speaking as one of your bad decisions, let me assure you how little I care.

She's my patient. How she got in the state she's in is of no concern to me aside from its relevance to treatment. So can I treat her?"

Ron looked at her with an odd expression, as if the answer had been obvious all along. "Yeah, of course."

"Then sign that."

Ron scrawled his name across the parchment and handed it to her.

Michelle turned on her heal and left in a huff.

"Fiery, that one," Harry commented.

Ron looked after her. "You've no idea."

"Let's go back in, yeah?" Harry said. "They'll start to worry, we've been gone so long."

Ron nodded and followed Harry back to the waiting area. They took seats facing Hermione's room and watched what seemed like an endless stream of healers walk in and out for an hour. Finally, Michelle came back over to the waiting area.

"We've done all we can," she said. "The rest is up to her. You can go back in if you like."

Harry watched as Ron walked to her room. He was back a few minutes later.

"Look," Ron said, addressing the group. "I appreciate you being here, but go home. She's still unconscious. There's nothing any of us can do. I swear I'll owl everyone the minute she's awake."

People began to stand up and mill about in preparation for leaving. Art walked over to Ron. "Dad, I should stay."

Ron shook his head and put his hand on Art's shoulder. "No, you should go back to school. You've got schoolwork and Head Boy duties tonight. I promise, you'll be the first to know when she wakes up."

"Art?"

Harry turned to see Emma Silsbury standing in the hallway behind them. She was blushing furiously.

"Emma," Art said, turning toward her.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Mum and Dad were being impossible. Is everything all right?"

"The procedure went well," Art said, "but Mum is still unconscious."

"Emma," Ron acknowledged her.

Harry noticed the poor girl's blush deepened.

"Mr. Weasley," she said.

"Take Art back to school," Ron continued.

Emma looked at Art. "Yeah," he said. "But I'm coming back tomorrow after class."

Ron nodded. "Fine."

"And if she wakes up before then, you'll send someone to fetch me."

Ron nodded again. "Of course." He put his arm around Art's shoulders and walked with him and Emma over to the fireplace. For the next twenty minutes, Harry watched as Ron stood by the fireplace, saying good-bye to everyone as they took the Floo. Finally, it was down to Viktor, Harry and Ginny. Gabrielle had just stepped into the fire with her daughter, when Viktor turned to Ron.

"Do you mind if I see her for a few minutes?"

Ron blew out a slow breath. "Go ahead."

Harry looked at him as Viktor walked away. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"

Ron snorted. "I let him have her for three years, I think I can give him ten more minutes."

"I guess we should be going then," Harry said, taking Ginny's hand.

"Actually," Ron stopped him, "I was wondering if you two might go to the house and get her some pajamas. She's not going to be happy if she wakes up and doesn't have any clothes on."

Ginny nodded. "Of course."

"Thanks," Ron said.

Viktor entered Hermione's room cautiously. He knew she wasn't awake, but it still felt wrong to just walk in. She looked like she was just napping. He frowned at her.

"I'm tired of keeping your secrets," he started. "Why can't you just tell him? Are you still so ashamed after all these years? He knows the worst of it already, why keep him in the dark about the rest? You are stubborn and impossible and you always were. This damn job of yours, I told you to quit years ago, but no, now you're right back at it and look where it landed you. Even cats only get nine lives, Hermione. You're pushing your luck."

Viktor scrubbed a hand down his face and turned to leave, he stopped at the door and turned back to her. "You never asked, but I'm telling you, that article was a lie. I never cheated on you, which is more than I can say for you. You loved him the whole time we were together. At least I tried to love you. For you, it was all about any port in a storm. It could have been anyone in that market Christmas Eve. You just didn't want to go home alone. As far as I'm concerned, the only decent thing you ever did for me was introduce me to Gabrielle." Viktor looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath, surprised by his own anger. He blew out the breath, and looked down at her. "Don't die," he said. "Ron doesn't deserve that." He opened the door and walked back to the fireplace. Suddenly, he couldn't get home fast enough.

Viktor only nodded to Ron on his way back to the fireplace. Harry and Ginny had left to pick up clothes for Hermione, so Ron was alone as he made his way back to her room. He sat down heavily in the now familiar chair next to her bed. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it. "Just you and me again, luv."


	12. I Can't Find My Watch

Chapter 12: I Can't Find My Watch

It was lunchtime when Art and Emma arrived back at Hogwarts and they went their separate ways to drop off their things.

Art saw her a few minutes later eating at the Ravenclaw table with her friends, Cecily and Jules. He wished, not for the first time, that they were in the same house. He sat down next to his cousin Clive and Clive's friend, Tony.

"Hey, Artie," Clive said. "How's Auntie H.?"

Art nodded. "Still unconscious, but the procedure went well."

"How's your dad holding up?"

Art shrugged. "I don't know. He looks like hell."

Clive nodded. "Yeah, Mum and Dad are pretty busted up about it too."

Art reached for a sandwich and some crisps. "How was Quidditch yesterday? You guys win?"

Clive grinned, "Against Hufflepuff? Hell, yes!"

"Excellent!" Art smiled. "It'll be good to have the house cup back in Gryffindor."

"Yeah," Tony piped up. "Where it belongs!"

Lunch passed by with talk of the upcoming match against Slytherin, which was their only real competition this season. The Ravenclaw team had been indomitable last year but all their best players had graduated, and Hufflepuff hadn't had a winning season since Art's second year. He did note when Emma and her friends left the hall. She gave him a shy smile as she passed his table.

It didn't take long for Ginny to get back with the clothes for Hermione. Harry had gone back to Hogwarts to get some work done before classes started tomorrow. Ginny helped Ron get Hermione into a gown, and then to Ron's surprise, she stayed.

She took out her wand. "I thought I'd do something about her hair. It's kind of a tangled mess right now."

Ron nodded. "She hates her hair."

"I've never understood why," Ginny said. "She can do so much with it. My hair just lays on my head like a dead animal."

Ron laughed.

Ginny performed a couple of different hair charms until Hermione's hair lay in soft ringlets around her head.

"That's better," Ginny said. She slid one of Hermione's hands out from under the blanket.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked.

Ginny smiled. "Well, since she can't argue, I thought I'd do a manicure and pedicure. She never takes the time to do that stuff. Do you think she'd mind?"

Ron shook his head. "Go ahead. I think she'd actually be really pleased."

Art went down to the library after lunch. He was behind on his homework, but with yesterday's win, the common room would be anything but quiet. He was relieved to see Emma sitting at a table in a corner by herself.

"Oi," Art said, setting his bag on the table.

"Hullo," Emma smiled. "Oh, I forgot to give you this. I hope you're not angry." She handed him a piece of parchment.

Art looked at the homework assignments. "Considering why you forgot, I forgive you."

She blushed, and he grinned.

He took out his potions text and started the reading for tomorrow. Emma returned to her essay. One thing he really liked about Emma was that she was a serious student. His last girlfriend had been impossible to study with, but Emma understood that there was work time and there was playtime. He was hoping for some playtime later, but considering this morning's fiasco on the stairs, he wasn't holding his breath.

Ginny stood up and stretched. "I think I should head out," she yawned. "I need to stop by the inn and check on Stan before I head home."

Ron stood. "Thanks for staying, Gin. I appreciate it."

She hugged him then squeezed Hermione's hand. "I'll probably see you tomorrow."

Ron saw Ginny out and then went up to reception to get a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. He returned to his seat next to Hermione and started to read, after a moment, he looked up. Hermione had read _The Daily Prophet_ start to finish every day since she was eleven. _Well_, Ron thought, _no sense her missing it_. He began reading out loud.

When he was done with the paper, he set it aside and stared at her. "I'd like some feedback on that, if it's not too much trouble."

Hermione's even breathing continued.

"Art's shagging the Head Girl at Hogwarts," Ron blurted. "Advise on that front would be appreciated. I need a little help here, Hermione. I didn't even know he was dating that bird, but there she was sneaking out of his bedroom this morning."

He paused as if she might answer. "His hair is too long," he continued. "Mine too. It's been ages since someone other than you cut my hair. I don't even have a barber, and I can't find my watch."

He looked at her in frustration. "Wake up, damn it. I can't stand this."

There was a knock on the door. Ron jumped. _I'm losing my bloody mind._

Michelle came into the room. "How is she?"

"Same," Ron said, standing.

"Try not to be too frustrated. It might take awhile for her to wake up." Michelle lit her wand and checked Hermione's ears and nose. "Those look better." She pulled a vial out of the pocket of her robes. "Healer Worthington said to have her drink this when she wakes up. It's for her throat. She set the small bottle on the bedside table. "I'll check on her again before I head home for the night." She turned to leave.

"Michelle," Ron called, unsure of why he couldn't let it go. "What you said this afternoon…"

He could see her shoulders slump. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very professional."

Ron shook his head. "It wasn't accurate either. You weren't one of my bad decisions. You were my only real effort at truly moving on with my life."

She turned around and looked at him. "Well, that's just pathetic then."

"Michelle…"

"No, it really is, Ron. I don't know who was more pathetic actually-- you for pretending to love me, or me for letting you stay in my bed for eight months saying her name in your sleep."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "I told you I had nightmares about the war."

Michelle's eyes narrowed in a way that made Ron's stomach tighten. "I never minded when you cried out her name in a nightmare. It's when you moaned it that I couldn't stand." She glared at him and slammed the door behind her as she stormed from the room.

Ron swallowed hard and sat back down. He looked over at Hermione. "Well, then. I guess we'll be continuing to rely on her professionalism, because she sure as hell isn't doing me any favors."

Hermione's unresponsiveness was disheartening.


	13. A Proper Girlfriend

Chapter 13: A Proper Girlfriend

Art felt like he'd done a fair job of avoiding thinking about his mother all day and getting his work done, but now it was midnight, he'd finished rounds with Emma two hours ago, and despite having gone to bed, he couldn't sleep. He punched his pillow for what felt like the billionth time trying in vain to fluff it or rearrange it so he could sleep, but he knew the pillow wasn't the problem. One persistent thought plagued him-- what if she didn't wake up?

To make matters worse, Emma had been extremely quiet on rounds. She hadn't mentioned this morning's events so he hadn't either. He didn't want to embarrass her more than she already was. Her silence unnerved him, though. What if she wanted to stop the sex? It's not like they'd been together all that often; maybe she just wanted to backtrack.

That would suck. Then a worse thought occurred to him. What if she wanted to break things off all together? He sat up in bed.

He startled at the sound of someone knocking softly on the door.

His heart jumped into his throat. His first thought was that something had happened to his mum. He pulled open the door in a rush and was surprised to see Emma standing there.

She looked equally surprised at the way he yanked the door open.

"Oh, it's you," Art said.

Emma looked stricken. "You were expecting someone else?"

"What?" Art asked, but then understood. "No, course not. I just thought it might be news of Mum."

"Oh," Emma said. "No, I'm sorry. I just couldn't sleep. I…you know, it's nothing…you're obviously ready for bed. I'm sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She turned to leave, but Art grabbed her hand.

"Don't…I'm not…" He shook his head. "I'd like to…talk."

Emma stepped into his room and Art closed the door behind her, plunging the room into darkness when he did so. "Oh, sorry." He found his wand on the dresser and said, "Lumos." The narrow beam lit the room enough that he could find the lamp and light that. "Nox," he said and set his wand back on the dresser.

Emma was standing in the center of the room looking uncomfortable.

"Have a seat."

She looked at her options, the bed or the desk chair. She chose the desk chair.

_Rats_, Art thought, _it's that sort of talk._ He sat down on the end of the bed facing her.

She was sitting with her back very straight and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "I'm really sorry about this morning," she started.

"Oh, no," Art said, waving his hand at her, "don't worry about it."

"No really, it was rubbish running off like that and leaving you to face your dad alone." She pushed a tear that spilled over off her cheek. "Look at me," she said with disgust, "crying again like a little girl."

"Don't," Art said, sliding off the bed and kneeling in front of her. "It's alright, Dad was fine this morning. No shouting, really, Dad's a brick. Truth be told, I suspect he and mum were up to a bit of this and that when they were in our shoes."

Emma sniffled. "It's just so hard, all this sneaking around." She pushed more tears off her cheek and Art felt his heart break a little.

"It's too much, isn't it?" he asked, hoping against hope she would say no.

Instead, she nodded, crying in earnest now.

Art put his arms around her and pressed his face against her hair. He loved her hair. He loved the way it caught the sunlight like strands of gold. He loved it curtained around him when she moved on top of him. And how was he supposed to live without that? How could he live without having the wet heat of her body now that he'd experienced it? How could he go on without the feel of her long legs wrapped around him? "But you're my girl," he whispered against her ear. "How am I supposed to get along without you?"

She pulled away from him. "Without me?"

"You're breaking up with me."

She blinked. "I'm what?"

"Aren't you?"

She wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve. "No! Is that what you want?"

Art sat back on his haunches. "No! Then what are you on about?"

Emma threw up her hands. "I'm just tired of sneaking around. I want to be a proper girlfriend. This pretending to be friends in public is just rubbish." 

"Oh," Art sighed, holding a hand to his chest. "I was only going along with that because you said you didn't want people whispering that we were shagging because we have private rooms."

"Well," Emma blew out an exasperated breath, "that was before we were shagging. I don't care what people think, Art. I'm not ashamed to be with you."

"And if McGonagall starts paying a lot more attention to our whereabouts now?"

Emma shrugged. "We're of age. If it's too much trouble to shag on grounds, we'll go off grounds. We're graduating in a few months anyway."

Art grinned. "That's true."

Emma took a deep breath and then let it out. "Well, then. That's settled. So there hasn't been any word of your mum?"

Art shook his head. "No."

Ron finally dozed off in the chair around midnight. He had a terrible dream.

_He and Michelle were sitting at the kitchen table in her old flat having breakfast. Hermione was sitting with them but she was transparent like a ghost. _

_Michelle was shouting. "It's like she's sitting right here with us!"_

_"She is sitting with us," Ron shouted back. "Can't you see her? She's right there!"_

_"You're impossible!" Michelle shouted and threw her coffee at him._

Ron came forward in the chair with a start. He held a hand against his chest and breathed deeply. The sun wasn't up but the sky wasn't dark enough for it to be night either. He glanced at the clock. Six a.m.

Hermione coughed.


	14. A Bit of a Miracle

Chapter 14: A Bit of a Miracle

Ron leaned over her. "Hermione?"

She coughed again. "Ron?" she gasped, without opening her eyes.

"I'm right here, luv."

"Throat…burns."

Ron fumbled for the bedside light and then found the vial Michelle had left from Healer Worthington. "Drink this," he told Hermione as he slid an arm under her to help her sit up enough to drink.

She drank without question.

"Better?" Ron asked. She still hadn't opened her eyes.

Hermione nodded. "Thirsty," she whispered.

Ron propped the pillows under her and poured a glass of water from the pitcher the house elves kept filled by the bed. "Here you go."

She drank as though her life depended on it. Her hands were shaking and it took both of them to hold the glass. Ron took it from her when she was finished and she lay back down.

At first Ron thought that she'd slipped back into a coma, but then she opened her eyes.

"Where am I?"

"St. Mungo's."

"How long have I been here?" Her voice was still very raspy.

Ron had to think a moment. "This is the morning of the fourth day. Do you remember what happened?"

Hermione nodded. "I need to see Thomas Greene."

"Why don't you wait a bit, get some of your strength back before you try talking to him. You only just came out of a coma."

Hermione shook her head. "I have to speak with him. The others, are they alright?"

Ron frowned. "The two that came in with you, Spliffed, but they're fine now. From what I gather, they don't know what happened though."

Hermione pressed her head back into the pillow. "No, they wouldn't. I really need to see Greene."

"Alright, alright," Ron grumbled. He pulled his wand from his robes and cast his Patronus. The silvery little dog romped in a circle but was off like a shot when Ron sent him to fetch Thomas Greene. He looked back at Hermione.

"Thank you," she whispered. "When do they serve breakfast? I'm starving."

Ron grinned with relief. He flagged down the first house elf he saw in the halls. "My wife is awake," Ron said coming back into the room with the little elf trailing behind him. "Can you get her something to eat? Oh, and can you contact her healer and let her know she's awake. It's Healer Cabrera, Michelle Cabrera, you got that?"

The elf nodded enthusiastically. He snapped his fingers and handed a metal plate to Ron. "Miss just tells the plate what she likes and the plate provides, sir."

Ron nodded.

"I'll fetch your healer, sir." The elf snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Ron handed the plate to Hermione but she wasn't able to make it work with her weak voice, so Ron ordered her a plate of fried eggs and toast. He helped her sit up more and then poured her another glass of water.

After she had finished her first egg, she looked at him. "Ron," she cleared her throat. "Did I hear you right? Is your ex-girlfriend my healer?"

Ron grimaced, but nodded. "Yeah, that's right?"

"Why?"

"Because she specializes in magical accidents and you had one."

Hermione poked a piece of toast into one of the egg yolks. "It wasn't an accident," she said. "I knew what I was doing."

"What?" Ron asked, astonished. He could feel a flush of anger rise.

There was a knock on the door.

"We're not done here," Ron said pointedly before he answered the door.

"I imagine not," Hermione muttered and took a bite of toast.

Thomas Greene was at the door. "Hermione! It's good to see you up. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," Hermione answered and took another bite of toast.

Thomas smiled. "That's a good sign, I'd say."

"Me too," Michelle said as she walked through the door that Ron was still holding open. "Hullo," she said, extending her hand to Hermione. "I'm Michelle Cabrera. I'm the healer in charge of your case."

Hermione shook her hand but without much energy.

"You're a bit of a miracle," Michelle said. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry, thirsty, exhausted. Fine," Hermione quipped.

Michelle smiled. "Alright then, let's have a look at you." She turned to Ron and Thomas. "I'm going to ask you two to step outside and let me do my exam.

Thomas started to say something, but Michelle interrupted. "I know you're desperate to talk to her, Mr. Greene, but that's going to have to wait a bit."

Thomas nodded. "I can wait," he said and stepped outside.

Ron was reluctant to leave. He looked at Hermione. She seemed to know how he felt.

"It's alright," she whispered.

Once he was out of the room, Ron realized how many owls he needed to send. He hurried to the small owlry off reception. In the end, he just sent three. One to Art by way of McGonagall, one to Harry and Ginny and one to his mum asking that she send word to the rest of the family.

Once the men left, Hermione couldn't help sizing up Michelle. The outcome left her more than a little disturbed. Michelle was her height. Hermione guessed they were within ten pounds of each other. She'd bet they wore the same bra size. The biggest difference in them actually was Michelle's stunning high cheekbones, her cascading wavy, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. She was beautiful and she was clearly a brilliant healer. Ron had done his best to replace her with a better model, and it looked like he had succeeded, at least for a while. She wondered, for the first time, who dumped whom?

Michelle, for her part, was all business, albeit cordial about it. She asked how Hermione felt, checked her wounds, asked after her more minor injuries, and gave her potions and balms to ease the pain. As she set the vials and tubs on the bedside table, Michelle paused. "Considering your history, I was hesitant to offer you the stronger opiate based potions, but if these don't manage your pain, talk to me, and I'll see what I can do."

Hermione couldn't imagine what she meant. "My history?" Then she realized, "Oh." Her jaw tightened and she felt a hollowness form in her stomach. "That was a long time ago, but it doesn't matter. I probably won't even take those. I'm quite capable of managing my pain, thank you."

Michelle nodded. "Of course." She turned to leave.

"Do you mind if I ask a question?"

Michelle turned back around. She seemed to brace herself. "Go ahead."

"How is it that I'm still alive? Because, I'm reasonably sure I shouldn't be."

Michelle sighed, as if she was relieved by the question. "I would say you're still alive because you're brilliant, and so am I."

Hermione chuckled, but it made her throat hurt. "Meaning?"

"I put you into stasis the moment you arrived. You'd lost a lot of blood and what blood you still had was tainted. Had you not kept a sample of your own blood, I wouldn't have been able to save you. You have your son to thank, by the way, for remembering that vial of blood."

"Ah," Hermione recalled. "The virgin's blood. He teased me about that only a few weeks ago."

"Yes, a distinct advantage that it was your blood and virginal. That made for a very powerful elixir, which is why you're awake now, no doubt. With an elixir made of a relative's blood, you'd probably still be in a coma. It usually takes a week or more for someone to wake up, but I had my suspicions it wouldn't take you that long due to the nature of the blood I used."

"Well," Hermione said, "lucky me then."

"You're very lucky. Lucky that Thomas Greene Apparated with you directly to St. Mungo's; lucky I was on duty and put you into stasis right in the lobby." Michelle cleared her throat. "You're a lucky woman."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I am, and very grateful for everything you've done." But, she was pretty sure Michelle wasn't really talking about her health.

Michelle smiled. "I'll be back in to check on you in a few hours. Try and get some rest."

Michelle was coming out of the room as Ron got back. "How is she?"

"Weak. But her prognosis is good. She's going to need plenty of rest, and plenty to eat. Her energy reserves are very low and she's still low on blood. I've given her a regular blood replenishing potion and another potion for her throat. Someone will come along in a little while and redress her wounds." She turned to Thomas. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, but the minute she starts to tire, the interview is over. Understood?"

Thomas nodded. "Of course."

"Definitely," Ron confirmed.

Michelle looked at Ron. "I'll be back to check on her in a couple of hours."

"Thanks," Ron said, "for everything."

Michelle nodded; she patted his arm. "Just doing my job, Ron."

Thomas Greene followed Ron back into Hermione's room. She was sitting up and had finished her breakfast, but Ron could tell by looking at her that she was bone tired.

"Maybe we should wait on this," he said to Thomas.

"No," Hermione said, in a voice much more like her own. "This won't take long, Ron. And Thomas, I'd like Ron to stay. There isn't anything classified in what I have to tell you."

"That's fine then," Thomas said.

"This was all a stupid error," Hermione started.

"How?" Thomas asked. "I've been over their proposal a dozen different ways, and I can't find anything wrong with it."

"Because there isn't anything wrong with it," Hermione confirmed. "The error wasn't in the proposal, it was in the execution, and it was sheer dumb luck that I caught it when I did."

"In the execution?" Thomas said. "What did they do wrong?"

"They transposed two runes in the circle. The rune for wind and the rune for fire at the end of the spell." Hermione looked at her hands.

"But that would make --"

"A conflagration," Hermione finished for him. "I just stopped in to see how it was going and to tell them I was off to lunch. I didn't even realize it until I'd already left the room and then it registered what I'd seen. When I got back to the circle, they'd already started casting. It was too late to stop it. I didn't have a choice." She closed her eyes.

"What do you mean you didn't have a choice?" Ron asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Thomas answered. "Two Unspeakables channeling that much magic through a conflagration circle would have burned off half the ministry. Fortunately, they were young. As a much higher order witch, Hermione was able to step in and control and contain the magic. She likely saved a hundred lives in the process."

"But --" Ron started.

Hermione touched his beard, her fingers long familiar with his face moved right to the scar hidden by the hair. "I know you know what it means not to have a choice," she said gently.


	15. Indiscretions

Chapter 15: Indiscretions

Art woke to the persistent sound of someone knocking on his door. His head was pillowed against Emma's breast so he moved off of her as gently as he could, so he didn't wake her. He pulled on his pajama bottoms as he stumbled to the door.

"What?" he said as he cracked the door open.

"Your father sent an owl a few minutes ago, Arthur. Your mother's awake," McGonagall said, a smile on her face and tears in her eyes.

Art slumped against the door jam, "Thank goodness." He remembered Emma's presence and stepped into the hall with McGonagall, closing the door behind him. "Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed and I'll be right up to your office."

McGonagall nodded. "The password for the stairs is 'cat toy.' Oh, and Arthur, I suggest you wake Miss Silsbury before you leave." She arched an eyebrow at him.

Art swallowed hard. "Yes, ma'am."

McGonagall turned on her heal and marched off.

"Oh, bollocks," Art mumbled under his breath.

He stepped back into the room. "Em, I don't want you to freak out but--"

Hermione went back to sleep when Thomas Greene left. She was still sleeping when Harry and Ginny arrived, followed shortly thereafter by Art.

"She's asleep now," Ron explained to them in the hall. "But she was awake before. She ate breakfast and talked to Greene about the accident, well, she said it wasn't an accident." Ron looked at the ceiling. "I don't know what I'm going to do with her."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

Ron explained the whole situation.

Ginny shook her head. "Typical Hermione. Thank goodness she noticed the error though."

Art felt slightly sick to his stomach.

"I hate to keep you here while she's sleeping," Ron said. "Art, maybe you should go back to class. I'll owl when she wakes back up."

Art shook his head. "No, I'm staying."

Ginny just opened the door to Hermione's room and took a chair. Harry smiled at Ron and followed Ginny. A few minutes later they were all comfortably seated, Ron and Harry read the paper, while Art read one of his texts, and Ginny knitted.

An hour passed before Hermione stirred. "Ron?"

"I'm right here, luv," Ron said. "Art and Harry and Ginny are here too."

Hermione opened her eyes. "Art?"

Art sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed her hand. "I'm right here, Mum. It's good to see you awake."

She smiled and Ron helped her sit up. Art hugged her gingerly, mindful of her injuries. She managed to talk with them all for about twenty minutes before she dozed back off.

Art looked at the clock. "I'm going to head back to school and catch double potions."

Ron nodded. "Go ahead."

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Art said.

Harry stood too. "I think I'll go back with Art and teach my afternoon classes."

"Alright then," Ginny said.

Harry leaned down and kissed her. "I'll see you tonight then?"

"Yes," Ginny said.

Ginny stayed most of the afternoon until her mother arrived. Ron and his mother sat in companionable silence for most of the late afternoon and evening. Hermione woke for several brief periods. Ron fed her lunch and dinner as well as two snacks. At two o'clock a healer came in and changed her bandages. Various family members stopped in throughout the day. Hermione was asleep through most of their visits. At eight o'clock, Michelle came back to check on her. Finally, at nine o'clock, Ron's mum set down her knitting and stood. "I think I'm going to head back home. Is there anything I can get you before I go, dear?"

"No, I'm fine, Mum." He stood and hugged her. He walked with her out to the fireplace, and then got himself a cup of coffee before going back to Hermione's room.

When he got back she was awake.

"Hey," he said as he came in the door. "I thought you'd still be sleeping."

"No," she said, sitting up by herself. "I'm awake." She picked up the tray and asked for pumpkin juice and some biscuits. When they appeared she took the glass of pumpkin juice and then held out the tray to Ron. "Biscuit?"

He took one.

Hermione drank her juice for a moment and then set it down. "Mind if I ask a question?"

"Go ahead," Ron said, sipping his coffee.

"Michelle said that due to my history she didn't give me any opium based potions for pain."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"How is it she knew about my history? I know it's not anywhere in my medical files."

Ron set his coffee down and cleared his throat. "She asked a lot of questions. She wanted a complete medical history so that if there was any possibility of there being anything wrong with any other part of you, they could fix it, so your body wouldn't expend energy on anything but your recovery."

"So you told her --"

Ron shook his head. "When she started asking about drugs, I left the room."

"Then who --?"

"Viktor."

"Viktor?" She looked appalled. "Why on earth was he here?"

"I sent Harry to fetch him the day you were hurt."

Hermione sat back in the bed and leaned her head against the wall. "Why?"

"Because in order to make the potion that saved your life, she needed to know the curses that caused the scars."

"But you know --"

"Not the one on your shoulder, I don't. You got that while you were with Viktor and you've never said how."

Hermione looked confused. "So Viktor told you?"

"No. He asked to speak to the healer in private. Like he'd been sworn to secrecy."

Hermione looked at him. "Oh."

"That's it?" Ron scoffed.

"What do you want from me, Ron?"

"How about a straight answer."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't remember how I got it."

"You don't remember? You, who remember everything, you don't remember. Why? Were you stoned?"

Hermione looked at her hands. "I don't think so."

"You don't think -- what the hell?" He stood.

"I took them out," she said softly.

"You took what out?" Ron shouted.

"The memories. They're in memory vials in my potions cabinet at home."

Ron sat back down. "Why would you do that?"

She closed her eyes and Ron noticed a tear slip down her cheek. "How many times do I have to humiliate myself to you, Ron?"

"You want humiliation," Ron growled, "try having to ask another man to answer questions about your own wife's body. Not once, but twice."

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes glassy. "Okay," she whispered. "You win."

Ron sat back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest.

Hermione was silent for such a long time that Ron thought perhaps she'd decided not to continue the conversation. Finally, she said, "Viktor…and I were on our way back from visiting Todor when they attacked us, in broad daylight."

"Who?"

"Death Eaters."

"What?" Ron felt a hollow form in his stomach.

"It was before I started making our Portkeys. Someone, Rita probably, reported that we were going to Bulgaria. They took me right off the street. Some war hero," she snorted. "I only managed to get two of them before they took me."

Ron took a deep shuddering breath. "How long?"

Hermione shook her head. "Not long. You can't leave Viktor Krum bleeding in the streets of Bulgaria and not expect an extreme response. I think they mobilized every Auror in Eastern Europe. They had me back inside ten hours."

"Ten hours?" Ron said, horrified.

"I didn't know any of the attackers," Hermione continued. "The Aurors asked me to take out the memories so they could examine them in a Pensieve. When they gave them back to me, I…just…left them in their bottles. I found it was easier living without them."

Ron took her hand. "Why couldn't Viktor just tell me that?"

"Because I asked him not to. Bound him to secrecy, actually. The Bulgarian ministry has a much tighter hold on their press than we do ours. It never made the papers over there, and I didn't want anyone here knowing."

Ron cupped her cheek. "Not even me?"

Another tear escaped. "Especially not you. I didn't want you to feel like I couldn't take care of myself. I thought you might feel obligated to do something."

"You thought I might go off my rocker and trounce around Eastern Europe killing Death Eaters?"

She looked at him and smiled, "Something like that."

"Damn right," Ron frowned. "I have a good mind to do it right now."

She placed her hand over his. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but without the actual memories, it honestly slipped my mind. I mean, I can't even see the scar, and it never really hurts like the others." She sighed. "You know, you could have just asked me."

Ron looked up at the ceiling and blew out a long breath. "Honestly, I was afraid of the answer. I figured it must be bad for you never to mention it."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't deliberately keep things from you, Ron."

He frowned at her. "You do some things."

"I don't."

"Then why didn't you tell me you were pregnant before Artie?"

Her mouth dropped open.

"Michelle asked if Art was your only pregnancy. I said 'yes,' but Viktor said, 'no.' I guess, I didn't realize you and Viktor had been that close. I mean, I always thought yours was just a relationship of mutual support. I know you mentioned wanting to have children, but I guess it didn't occur to me that you might've actually tried and lost a baby. That kind of puts the breakup in a whole new light." He couldn't believe how much it hurt to say those words out loud.

Hermione was shaking her head again. "No, no it wasn't like that. It wasn't like that at all. It wasn't like when we decided to have a baby. There was no talk of plans and dreams." Tears began to fall in earnest now. "It wasn't like us. It was just drunk people having a go and forgetting the charm." She was crying very hard now, and Ron began to be concerned about her condition. "Shh," he said, wrapping his arms around her, careful of her wounds, he held her close. "Shh, it's alright, luv. It's all right. Don't cry now, shh."

It took a long time for her to calm down and for him to get her settled back into bed. Even after she fell asleep, he could hear her breathing hitch as she cried in her dreams. Whenever it happened, he would sit on the edge of the bed and rub her back until she settled down again.


	16. Unexpected Losses

Chapter 16: Unexpected Losses

The next morning, when she awoke, Hermione was relieved to find Ron sleeping in the lounge chair next to her. He was softly snoring. She really had to pee, so she eased out of bed and went to the loo. She was unsteady on her feet for a moment, but managed to make it there and back without incident. When she finally got back in bed she felt as though she'd run a marathon.

She'd caught a glimpse of her hair in the lavatory mirror and winced. She opened the drawer of the bedside table as quietly as she could to look for her wand. It wasn't in there. She stared at the cupboard across from the bed. It seemed very far away. She contemplated for several minutes her need to tame her hair versus her need to continue lying in bed. Finally, vanity won out and she walked slowly over to the cabinet, she was able to keep her hand on the bed to steady herself most of the way. When she reached the cabinet, she was disappointed and confused to see that her wand wasn't among the contents, which only consisted of three pairs of pajamas.

She frowned as she made her way slowly back to bed. _Where is my wand?_ Ron let out a rather loud snore then, and her eyes narrowed. He had probably confiscated it. _Damn it, I bet they've taken me off magic._

She pulled the covers up and her stomach growled. She reached for the tray and ordered soft-boiled eggs, toast and coffee.

Ron woke when the food appeared.

"Morning," he said, rubbing his hand across his face and scratching his beard.

"Morning," Hermione said. "You want something to eat? I can order more."

Ron shook his head. "No, I can run down to the cafeteria." He went to the loo.

When he came out, it was clear he had done a cleaning charm and a grooming charm on his hair and beard.

"You look nice," Hermione commented. "Refreshed."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, nothing like a good cleaning charm first thing in the morning."

"Tell me about it. Where's my wand?"

Ron looked up, suddenly more alert. "Your wand?"

"You know, about this big." She held her hands out to approximate the length. "Vine wood."

Ron scratched his head. "Hermione…"

"Come on, Ron," she said, irritated.

"I don't have it, luv."

"What?"

"It shattered in the explosion."

All the air left her lungs. "What?" she gasped. "My wand…"

Ron sat on the end of the bed. "We'll get a you a new one."

"But, I've had that wand since I was a child. It made it through the war. It knew all my mother's knitting stitches. My wand…" She put her face in her hands and tried not to cry.

Ron rubbed her back. "It's all right."

She looked up suddenly. "Do they have the pieces? Maybe I could do a restructuring spell. They're difficult on something that complicated but --"

Ron shook his head. "They took some splinters out of your hand, but that's it. There's no core left."

She sat back against the wall. "My wand…"

Ron moved the tray back in her lap. "You need to eat."

She complied, but she couldn't really taste anything.

Art arrived midmorning to visit between classes.

He hugged Hermione gently. "How are you?"

"Much better," she said. "I hope they'll let me out of this abysmal place soon."

"Any word on that?" Art asked.

"Not yet," Ron said, "but I'll ask Michelle when she comes in."

"Speaking of people coming by," Hermione said, "is Ginny coming today?"

"Don't know," Ron said. "Why?"

"I need someone to fix my hair."

"I can do it," Art said.

Ron looked at him. "You?"

"Sure, my hair is sort of like hers. The spells aren't that different for long and short." Art pulled out his wand. "Do you just want it untangled and left down or do you want me to braid it and get it out of your way?"

"Braid it, please." Hermione said.

"Hang on," Ron stopped him. "How is it you know how to braid it? Yours has never been long enough to do that."

"I grew up in the house with Mum, didn't I?" Art asked, clearly annoyed that his father didn't seem to trust him with such a simple task. Without further ado he cast the first charm.

Ron grunted and sat back in his chair.

A few minutes later, Hermione's hair was in a single plait down her back.

"There," Art announced. "Perfect." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "But I have to be getting back."

"Alright then, dear," Hermione said.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Owl if they say when you can go home."

Ron walked Art out.

When he came back in he was flabbergasted. "Seven years in Hogwarts and I get a hairstylist for my money."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "His spell work extends far beyond hairdressing, I assure you."

"Who cares about the spell work? I was just afraid he might be a poof. If I hadn't seen that girl sneaking out of his room, I'd be really worried."

"What girl sneaking out of his room? What? There was a girl sneaking out of his room! When did this happen?" Hermione asked.

Ron looked at her. "Um..."

"Don't back out now, tell me what's going on!" Hermione said sharply.

"Well, the morning of your procedure, I caught the Head Girl sneaking down our stairs."

"Emma Silsbury?"

"Yeah, that's her name."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "I thought they were just friends. Oh my, I would never have pegged Emma for the sneak-around type. What did you say to Art?"

Ron sat down. "To be honest, not much."

"He's got girls sneaking out of our house and you didn't say anything?"

"Course I said something! Just not much." He raked his fingers through his beard.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "What did you say?"

"Well, I asked if he was being careful."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "And?"

"He is."

"Right, good. And then?"

"And then what?" Ron asked.

"What else did you say?" Hermione all but shouted.

"That was pretty much it."

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Yeah."

Hermione had no response for that. She couldn't believe Ron had let the situation go so easily. The rest of the morning was quiet, but at lunchtime Harry and Ginny showed up followed closely by the twins.

George came in with flowers. "How's our hero this fine morning?"

"Just fine, thank you," Ron quipped.

"Sod off, you," George shot back. He kissed Hermione's cheek and handed her the flowers.

Fred handed her a box of chocolates, which she eyed suspiciously and set on the bedside table.

"Don't you know," said Fred, "that's what this lot does when they all get together. They sit around discussing how heroic they all are."

"Oh yes," George said, deepening his voice. "I've saved the whole wizarding world."

"But I saved you, so really I saved the whole wizarding world," Fred answered in another deeper voice.

"That was all ages ago," George answered in a falsetto. "I just saved hundreds of people last week. What have you two done lately?"

In spite of themselves, everyone was laughing.

When they all finally got up to leave, and Ron was walking them out, Ginny lingered, slowly gathering together her knitting. When the men had left the room, she turned to Hermione.

"Is everything all right? You and Ron seem a bit tense."

Hermione sighed. "It's been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster around here."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I just need to get out of here so things can get back to normal."

"Yeah, about that," Ginny said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Are you going to go back, you know, to the Ministry?"

Hermione fidgeted with the bed covers. "I want to, but I suspect I'll have a fight on my hands as far as Ron is concerned. He never wanted me to go back in the first place."

"He worries," Ginny said, straightening the sheet a bit. "We all do."

Hermione put her hand on Ginny's arm to still it. "Ginny, it was a fluke. My job isn't really dangerous at all."

Ginny looked up at her. "Good luck convincing Ron of that."

Hermione sat back and leaned against the wall. "Thanks."


	17. Words No Boy Wants to Hear

Chapter 17: Words No Boy Wants to Hear

Michelle came in late that afternoon to check on Hermione's progress.

"I think we can take these off," Michelle said, removing the bandages on Hermione's shoulder and chest. "Now let me see how your side is doing."

Hermione lifted her arm out of the way and caught sight of her nails.

"All right, this one isn't quite ready yet, but it looks like you might be out of here tomorrow." Michelle applied more ointment to the wound and changed the dressing.

"That's fantastic," Hermione said. "Have you seen my nails?"

Michelle looked at them. "They look great."

"Yes, they never look this good," Hermione said, curious as to how they got that way.

"Listen," Michelle said, "we need to talk about the rest of your recovery."

Hermione looked up from her hands. "I'm doing fine."

"Right, but I'm taking you off magic for the next month."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "A month? That's outrageous! The last time I spliffed they let me go back in 24 hours."

Michelle frowned. "You did far more than spliff this time around. You're lucky to be alive. Going back to your regular practice of magic is likely to do permanent damage. I understand your wand was destroyed in the explosion. I strongly recommend not even trying to buy a new one until the month is up."

"You want me wandless for Christmas? Are you mad?"

"I want you alive for Christmas. Besides, as I recall, Ron is quite good with his wand."

Hermione's eyes widened and she could feel a flush of anger.

"I'm sorry," Michelle retracted. "That came out wrong. What I meant was that Ron is a capable wizard, I'm sure he could handle Christmas and any other household needs for a month."

Hermione clenched her jaw to keep from saying anything.

Michelle stood to leave. "I'm sure it must be difficult for a witch of your caliber to be taken off magic, but I wouldn't recommend it if I didn't think it was essential for your recovery."

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Hermione called without looking at Michelle.

"Hullo," Art said as he came into the room.

"Good afternoon," Michelle said. "I really must be going. I have other patients to attend to."

"Alright," Art said, surprised at the healers abrupt departure. He sat down on the edge of his mother's bed. "Mum? Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded and looked at him. "I'm fine." She patted his hand.

"Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he went off to the shop for a few hours. They have an important client coming in from Zaire and he wanted to be there for that. I'm doing so much better it seemed silly for him to miss it."

"Oh," Art said. "Well, what did the healer say?"

"She said my recovery is coming along."

"But?" Art questioned.

Hermione sighed, her shoulders sagging. "She's taking me off magic for a month."

Art let out a low whistle. "A whole month. That's bloody awful."

Hermione rubbed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, it can't be helped so I might as well get used to it."

"I'm really sorry, Mum. You know I'll do anything you need, right?"

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Art." She took a deep breath and let it out. "So how's school?"

Art ran his fingers through his hair. "Hectic. Revisions for N.E.W.T.s are killing me."

"Oh, I remember. I don't miss revisions at all. And how's Emma?"

Art's hand froze in his hair mid-sweep. "Um."

"Your father told me you two are sleeping together."

Art's eyes widened. "Well…"

"She was sneaking out of your room a few days ago?"

"Yes," Art sputtered.

"Well, that would certainly lead one to think you're shagging her." Hermione said pointedly.

"Mum!" Art scolded. "There are certain words no boy wants to hear his mother say and 'shag' is one of them."

"Art, I'm just concerned. Emma is a lovely girl, but she's a serious girl. You can't expect to treat her in the same casual manner as you treated Susan and get the same result."

"I did not shag Susan!" Art cried.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Mum! It never went further than what you walked in on!"

"Well, that's a relief. Susan was a bit of a twit."

"Oh, come on, Mum. Susan was alright…in a sort of a limited way."

"And Emma, is she limited too?" Hermione asked.

Art shook his head. "No, no, actually Emma is brilliant, really brilliant. I don't know how I didn't notice her before. I mean, I noticed she was pretty. Really lovely, but she was so quiet and shy. I didn't really get to talk to her until last year when we were pared for potions because there weren't enough N.E.W.T. students for us all to be with our own houses."

"So, how long have you two been dating?"

"About six months."

"Artie," Hermione scolded. "Why on earth didn't you say something before? If you're serious about this girl, we should have at least had her round for dinner. And what about her parents? Do they know?"

"That we're shagging?" Art squeaked. "I certainly hope not."

"I meant," Hermione cleared her throat, "do they know you're dating?"

"Oh, um, I don't know. Emma doesn't really talk about them much. They're Muggles and I gather they don't really approve of the wizarding world."

"Perhaps they just don't understand it," Hermione said.

"Maybe," Art said, "but I think it's more than that."

"Well, I'd still like her to come for dinner some time."

"Actually, since you brought it up," Art said. "I was wondering if she might come for Christmas hols."

"All of Christmas hols?" Hermione asked. "Surely her parents aren't going to be happy about that."

Art frowned. "They don't usually let her come home until Boxing Day."

"What?" Hermione asked, sure that she misunderstood.

"She has a large family and her parent's host them for Christmas and well, apparently when she was younger there was a magical accident and since then they don't let her come home until Boxing Day."

Hermione frowned. "Let me talk to your father first, but I'm reasonably confident Emma will be spending the holiday with us."

Art grinned and kissed her cheek. "You're the best, Mum." He stood to leave. "I've got to get back to school though."

"Oh, and Art," Hermione said as he started to go. "Mind your manners at school. It wouldn't do to have the Head Boy expelled for fornicating."

"Mum!" Art cried. "That's another one of the words you should never say!"

"Mind what I told you, Artie," Hermione scolded.

He nodded and closed the door behind him.

When Art finished up classes for the day, he was surprised to see Emma sitting in the hall outside the door to his rooms.

"Oi, Em, what's up?"

She looked up at him. It was clear she'd been crying. "McGonagall called me to her office today."

Art dropped his books and knelt in front of her. "What did she say?"

Emma closed her eyes. "She threatened expulsion if we couldn't manage discretion."

Art's mouth dropped open. "Expulsion?" He grimaced.

Emma nodded, tears beginning to fall. "So I guess you're sleeping with yourself tonight."

"Oh, Em," Art said, sitting beside her and pulling her into a hug.

She sobbed on his shoulder for a few minutes before pulling back. "I should go."

He nodded numbly and watched her walk away. "Fucking McGonagall," he muttered under his breath.


	18. Getting Cocky

Chapter 18: Getting Cocky

When Ron came back, Hermione was sitting up in bed reading _The Daily Prophet_.

"Hey, you look like you're feeling loads better," he said as he flopped into the chair beside her bed.

She put down the paper. "I am. Michelle said it's likely I can go home tomorrow."

Ron leaned over and kissed her. "That's brilliant!"

She smiled, cupped his chin and kissed him back slowly.

He pulled out of the kiss after a minute and grinned at her. "I believe you are feeling better."

She chuckled. "Well, there is some bad news."

Ron sat back in his chair. "What's that?"

"She's taken me off magic for a month."

He let out a low whistle. "That's going to be tough."

"It's ridiculous is what it is. Why on earth should I wait a month? I feel fine. Once my side heals completely, I see no reason why I can't resume my normal activities."

Ron tugged at his beard. "Your normal activities? Would that include going back to work?"

Hermione dropped her eyes and refolded the paper in her lap. "Well, I do normally go to work, Ron."

He sighed. "You know, I think I've been really patient with this whole Ministry business."

"Ron--" Hermione started.

"No," Ron said, his voice rising, "you listen to me. I sat back for years watching you struggle as an Unspeakable."

"I never struggled at work," Hermione mumbled.

"No, but you would come stumbling home looking like you'd been mugged. You drank like a bloody fish to ease the pain and I put up with it, because it was your choice."

Hermione looked up at him. "It's still my choice, isn't it? I don't tell you how to spend your days."

"My days don't threaten my life!" Ron shouted.

Hermione pressed her palm to her forehead. "It was a fluke, Ron! A freak accident! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"As many times as you like, it doesn't change the fact that accidents happen and they happen more often when people are channeling large volumes of magic in experimental ways." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Accidents can happen anywhere. What do you want me to do? Hide in the house and never go out?" She glared at him.

"Maybe," Ron said. "That sounds good, actually."

"You're impossible!" Hermione shouted.

Ron grabbed her hand. "Don't go back," he pleaded.

"Ron, I can't just sit at home all day. I need to be productive."

"Be productive somewhere else, anywhere else. Go back to Hogwarts."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm tired of teaching. I want to do something else. This is a wonderful opportunity for me."

Ron dropped her hand and stood. He began pacing. "This wonderful opportunity just about got you killed."

"It was a freak--"

"Don't say it!" Ron shouted. "Don't say it again. I don't want to hear it. Like that makes a difference. Bugger all!" He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and cried.

Ron was back in less than a half an hour. He slumped into the chair next to the bed but didn't say anything. Hermione lay on her back staring at the ceiling. They sat in silence like that for a long time before she finally spoke.

"You know, had I not stepped into that circle, I would have very likely been killed by the resulting blast anyway, as would a lot of other people."

Ron sighed. "I know."

"I'm not Lavender, Ron. I can't stay at home and make fabulous pumpkin pasties, and plan dinner parties and talk about my children as though they're my whole life. Maybe it's because I was only able to have the one. I don't know. But I need more than that."

"I know," Ron said.

"I haven't been a very good wife. I'm not such a great mother either. I mean I tried, Ron. I really did, but I'm rubbish at all the domestic stuff."

Ron took her hand. "That's not true. You've been a very good wife, and a very good mother. But you're right, you're not Lavender." He leaned into her. "Thank goodness. Can you imagine?" He rolled his eyes. "The horror. I don't know how Seamus lives with that woman."

"Ron," she chided.

He kissed the back of her hand. "Alright, go back, but not until Michelle clears you."

Hermione nodded. "I really am sorry. I wish I wasn't like this."

Ron shrugged. "The ambition comes with the rest of the package. I wouldn't trade it."

Hermione looked rather pointedly at his crotch and then back up at him. "I rather like your package too."

Ron shook his head. "Do you think all the patients are as randy as you?"

Hermione shrugged.

The next morning, Michelle came early. She was pleased that the wound on Hermione's side had completely healed. Only the thick white scar remained.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she removed the bandage.

"Fine. Perfect, really. I don't see why I can't resume magic once I get a new wand."

Michelle frowned. "How you feel now and how you'd feel after a simple spell are two different things."

"But I know my own body," Hermione whined. "I'm really fine now."

Michelle blew out a frustrated breath. "Alright then. Let's try a little experiment. If I'm right, you're off magic for a month. If I'm wrong, you can buy a wand tomorrow and go back to work."

Hermione smiled. "Fine, what do I have to do?"

"Stand up," Michelle said.

Hermione stood by the bed. "Alright."

"Now, I assume you know how to do wandless magic."

Hermione gave her a withering look. "Of course."

Michelle turned to Ron, "Would you stand next to her, Ron, and put your arm around her waist, otherwise she's going to hit the floor."

Hermione clenched her jaw.

"Now, do a simple summoning charm. Call my quill to you." Michelle held the quill out flat on her palm. "I won't try to stop you, just summon the quill."

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"No tricks," Michelle reassured her. "Go ahead."

Hermione held her hand out, and said the summoning charm. The quill flew to her hand. She grinned at Michelle in triumph, and then passed out.

Ron caught her. "Michelle!" he shouted. He picked up Hermione and laid her on the bed.

"She's fine," Michelle said. "She just fainted. She should come around on her own in a minute or two. The most powerful ones are always the worst patients. If I'd asked her to do anything harder, she would have actually spliffed. Still, you should feed her as soon as she wakes up."

"Michelle --" Ron started.

"She bought herself some extra time here too. I'll come back this afternoon and release her, barring anymore incidents, of course."

Ron sighed. "Of course."

Hermione started to come around as Michelle left the room.

Ron picked up the meal tray. "Soft boiled eggs and toast," he told it. He looked over at Hermione whose eyelids were fluttering open. "You're a piece of work, you know that?"

She at least had the decency to look chagrined as she pulled herself up on one elbow. Ron fed her and she promptly fell back asleep.


	19. Even Simple Spells

Chapter 19: Even Simple Spells

When Hermione awoke again, she found Harry standing at the foot of her bed putting the contents of the cupboard in a bag.

"Harry?" Hermione rubbed her eyes, and pushed herself up on one elbow. "What are you doing here? Where's Ron?"

Harry looked at her over his glasses. "Oh, you're up. Ron's signing a great deal of parchment trying to get you released."

"Alright." She sat up and pushed her hair back. "Why are you here?"

"I thought he might need some help getting you home."

Hermione smiled. "Harry, that's sweet, but we'll just take the Floo. You shouldn't have troubled yourself."

"No trouble," Harry said. "But about the Floo."

"You were right," Ron said, barging in the door. "It's not going to work."

"What?" Hermione asked. "They're not letting me go?" She was crestfallen.

"No, they'll let you leave…" Ron started, but then paused.

"You just can't take the Floo," Harry finished for him.

"What? Why?"

"Using Floo powder is a spell, Hermione," Ron said.

Hermione blew out a frustrated sigh. "It's a not a very hard spell."

Ron frowned. "Neither is summoning a quill."

"Well, I certainly can't Apparate," Hermione said crossly. "How am I supposed to get home? Oh," she groaned, "tell me we don't have to fly."

"Actually, they recommended against that too."

"What?" Harry asked, "Why?"

"Too physically taxing," Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, how are we going to get her home then?" Harry asked.

"Excuse me," Hermione glared at both of them. "I'm sitting right here."

Ron pursed his lips and tugged at his beard. "They recommended a car actually." He looked at Harry. "Do you know anybody who has one?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Just Viktor."

"No!" Hermione said.

Ron sat down on the edge of her bed. "I'm not sure we have a lot of choice, luv. I'd go buy one, but they aren't exactly readily available. You have to have loads of permits to have a charmed car."

"Get one from the Ministry," Hermione said. "Thomas can make that happen."

Ron shook his head. "I'd rather ask Viktor."

"Well, I wouldn't." Hermione insisted.

They glared at each other.

"I'll arrange it," Harry said. "Give me an hour." 

"Harry --" Ron started.

"It's done," Harry said and walked out the door.

True to his word, an hour later, Harry showed up at St. Mungo's with a car. Hermione found that just the walk from her room to the lobby left her exhausted. She fell asleep on the way home slumped against Ron in the backseat while Harry drove.

Ron didn't ask Harry where he got the car and Harry didn't mention it.

They both helped Hermione up the steps into the house and upstairs to the bedroom. She was exhausted from the climb and promptly fell back asleep as soon as she was tucked in.

"You want some tea?" Ron asked Harry.

"Sure."

They went down to the kitchen where Winky gave them each a cup of Earl Gray before disappearing into another part of the house to continue cleaning.

"I don't know what I'd do without that little elf," Ron said wistfully into his teacup.

"The next month's going to be hard," Harry said.

"Oh," Ron sighed, "it won't be so bad so long as she's sleeping most of the time. It's when she starts to get her strength back that the real terror begins."

Harry let out a low whistle. "I don't envy you there, mate."

Ron set down his cup and dropped his face into his hands. "If only I didn't own the shop, I could claim having to go to work to get me out of here."

"You need to make sure she has company, and books, and maybe getting some work--"

"No!" Ron said, looking up sharply. "No work."

"Alright," Harry sighed, "but if you don't keep her occupied she's going to make you miserable. You know she can't stand being bored and I would think a month without magic is going to be pretty damn boring."

Ron dropped his head back and held his arms out. "Just kill me now."

Hermione spent the next few days mostly sleeping. Slowly but surely she began venturing out of bed for longer and longer periods. She was taking it easy, trying not to overtax herself, and for a while, she managed to contain her frustration.

Ten days into her convalescence, she snapped. Ron knew this when he walked into the parlor to find her flinging her knitting needles and a good-sized ball of yarn into the fire.

"I can't believe I ever used to do this by hand!" she shouted.

"Hullo," Ron said from the door.

She glared at him. "My knitting is rubbish."

"Well," Ron said sitting on the ottoman in front of her. "Lucky we're not relying on that to put food on the table."

She pushed her hair back. "I'm bored out of my mind."

Ron took her hands and kissed each palm. "I know. What can I do?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. Art's bring Emma home with him tomorrow. I'm sure Winky's taken care of everything. She always does. Really, this whole convalescence has only proven how worthless I am around here. I mean really, has anyone even noticed I can't do magic except me?"

"Hermione, don't be ridiculous. Listen," he said, pushing an errant curl behind her ear. "I know you're bored. I bought a whole bag of books for you today, the ones you listed plus some that the bookseller recommended."

"But, Ron, I can't just sit around reading all day. I want to do something."

Ron winked at her. "I want to do something too, but I don't think you're quite up to that yet."

"Oh," Hermione sighed wistfully, "sex would be lovely. But you're right, I don't think I could quite manage it."

Ron grinned and kissed her cheek next to her ear. "Even if I do most of the work?"

"Even if," Hermione said sadly.

"Well, buck up," Ron said, patting her knee. "You've only got a little over two weeks left."

But from where Hermione was sitting that seemed like an eternity.


	20. Frustration

Chapter 20: Frustration

Art was about to go mad with the waiting. It was late in the day and he was anxious to get home. Why did it take Emma so long to pack? They were only going to be gone for a week. Was she packing everything she owned? What was going on?

"Art?"

He turned to see Emma coming toward him carrying a single suitcase.

"You've been in there ages and that's all you're bringing."

Emma raised her eyebrows then looked at her watch. "Fifteen minutes is all I've been gone, Art."

Art grabbed her wrist and stared at her watch. She was right. "Well, it seemed like longer," he huffed.

"Well, I can't help how it seemed." Emma said. "It was only fifteen minutes. Why are you so testy?"

"I just want out of this wretched place is all," Art said and reached for her bag.

"Fine, let's go then."

He tried to calm down as they made their way toward the Great Hall where Professor McGonagall was finishing up signing out the stragglers for the holiday. Art let out an exasperated sigh when he saw the cue waiting to take the Floo. "Damn," he hissed.

"Art," Emma warned under her breath. "Language, there are fourth years here. Try to remember you're Head Boy." 

"Please, right now, I'm trying to forget that. I spent all morning, signing out the first years."

Emma rolled her eyes. "And what do you think I was doing? Lounging in bed?"

Art groaned. Why did she have to bring up bed? She hadn't let him touch her ever since McGonagall made her threat. Art glared at the old witch as she checked off students and gave them Floo powder. Matters had been made worse, when Professor Layne had left suddenly for a family emergency and McGonagall had assumed all his duties, including teaching N.E.W.T. level transfigurations. This had made an already nervous Emma completely fall apart. She couldn't transfigure anything right since McGonagall had taken over the class, and any time McGonagall asked her a question, Emma stuttered through it, blushing and unable to make eye contact. It was painful to watch. He longed for the confident Emma that had come to his room wanting to be a proper girlfriend. Unfortunately, that girl seemed to have disappeared with McGonagall's proclamation. He could kill that old witch.

Finally, it was their turn at the Floo. They were the only ones left.

"Oh, good," McGonagall said, rolling up the parchment and handing it to Emma. "Could you take this to Professor Knight, he should be in his office. If he isn't, just leave it on his desk."

Emma looked down at the parchment and then up at Art. She was blushing again. "Um, alright then. I'll just be a minute."

McGonagall watched Emma walk the length of the hall before turning to Art. "So," she said to him, "why is it that Emma can't so much as transfigure a mouse into a teacup and you're glaring at me like you want to see me dead?"

Art's mouth dropped open. Then he closed it angrily. "Well, that would be your fault now wouldn't it?"

McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise. "My fault?"

"You threatened to expel her!" Art was struggling not to shout.

"I told her to be discreet or I'd have to."

"Exactly!" Art did shout. Then he paused. "Be discreet?"

"Yes, discretion is called for, don't you think?" McGonagall asked as she stared up at him over her glasses.

"Be discreet doesn't mean stop."

McGonagall just continued looking at him.

"Oh, bloody hell," Art sighed pushing his fingers back through his hair. "She hasn't let me so much as hold her hand for weeks."

"I just don't want her walking out of your room at six o'clock in the morning, Weasley. Discretion."

"Right," Art said. How was he ever going to convince Emma of this?

Just then she came back into the Great Hall.

"Happy Christmas!" McGonagall said as she handed them both Floo powder.

Art was still trying to decide how to approach Emma about appropriate levels of discretion when they arrived at his parent's house.

"Ugh, I hate the Floo," Emma said as she stumbled from the fireplace after Art, who was already hugging his mother.

"Me too," Hermione said, stepping away from Art. "Apparition was the best thing that ever happened to me."

Emma smiled broadly. "That's how I feel."

"Well," Hermione said, returning the smile. "Since you're here for a few days, Art can show you the family Apparition point."

"Thanks, I'd like that," Emma said. "Hullo, Professor Weasley."

"I would have brought her by string Apparition but they won't let students use it with other students," Art complained.

"A wise precaution," Hermione said. Then she winked at him. "But I know you know how to do it."

Art stood a little straighter and smiled at Emma.

"And you don't have to call me 'Professor,' anymore Emma. 'Hermione' or 'Mrs. Weasley,' would be fine, whatever you're more comfortable with."

Emma's eyes widened, but she nodded.

"Alright then," Hermione said, clapping her hands. "Why don't you two get settled upstairs. You're father should be home in a half hour or so and then we can have dinner."

"Great, Mum." Art picked up their bags and lead Emma upstairs.

He brought both suitcases into his room and set them down.

"Art, what are you doing?"

He didn't answer but took her face in his hands and kissed her. He kissed her with all the pent up desire and frustration of the past couple of weeks. When they finally broke apart to breathe, Emma's face was flushed and she was blinking rapidly. Art moved in for another kiss but she stopped him with a hand against his chest.

"Art, stop."

"Why?" he asked. "I've been wanting to do that for ages."

"Because," Emma hissed, "your mother is just downstairs. I don't want your parents to think --"

"My parents know the nature of our relationship, Emma." Art said, kissing her forehead. "And they don't mind."

Emma stepped back and put her hands on her hips. "They don't mind?"

"No," Art said. "When I talked to Dad, he was only concerned that we were being careful and when I talked to Mum, she was only concerned that I recognized what a quality girl you are and that I wasn't just messing about."

Emma dropped her eyes.

"And," Art said, putting his fingers under her chin and tilting her face up to look at him, "I assured them that we were being careful and that I care very deeply for you."

Emma blinked. "I can't believe you talked about this with your parents."

"It's a small family, Em," Art smiled. "Word gets around."

"Still," she said, pulling away from him. "I want them to like me. I don't want them thinking I'm some slag and sending me back to school."

Art laughed.

Emma glared at him. "I'm serious, Art."

"I know, that's what makes it so funny. Listen, I can tell you straight off that neither my mum nor my dad would ever refer to anyone as a slag. As a matter of fact, Mum heard Clive saying that about some bird at school and she was absolutely murderous about it. Scared the hell out of poor Clive."

Emma drew a shaky breath. "I don't know, you're parents are just so different from mine."

Art sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands. "I know that, but you don't have to worry about them. You're here as my guest. More than my guest, you're here as my girlfriend. They want you to have a good time, they didn't invite you here to judge you."

Emma nodded, but she was biting her lip, which Art knew to mean she still wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get downstairs, Dad should be home and I'm starved."

Emma had never met a house elf before, so she was fascinated with Winky. Hermione, quite to Winky's chagrin, invited her to join the family for dinner so that Emma could get to know her better.

Appalled, Winky sat dutifully on top of a large spell book in a chair at the end of the table and picked at the food in front of her. Emma asked astute questions about the magic elves were capable of and Hermione was pleased with her interest in elf rights.

Ron and Art made plans to go out after dinner because Art hadn't had a chance to do his Christmas shopping.

As the conversation rolled around to the upcoming political elections, Art noticed that Emma seemed to have relaxed some. She didn't seem to mind being left at home with his mother while he and his father went out.

"I'll see you later then," Art said to Emma as he pulled his cloak on and took out his wand.

Emma nodded.

"Is there anything you need me to pick up while I'm out," Ron asked Hermione.

"I don't think so," she said.

"More knitting needles?" Ron teased.

"No, I have plenty, thank you." Hermione said frowning.

Ron chuckled. "We'll be back in a bit then." He leaned down and kissed her before turning to go.

Art winked at Emma.

She blushed slightly as he walked out the door.

As Hermione and Emma walked back to the parlor, Emma asked, "So you knit then?"

Hermione sighed. "If you can call it that. Mostly I make a mess of knots and throw it away in frustration."

Emma looked taken aback.

"Oh," Hermione realized how she sounded. "I'm wandless right now, so I'm having to knit by hand. I used to be able to do it, but I can't seem to remember how anymore."

"Wandless?" Emma said.

Hermione eased into one of the club chairs by the fire. She was definitely better, but by the end of the day, she was often quite sore. "My wand was shattered in the explosion and the healers have taken me off magic for the time being, hence my sorry attempts at knitting by hand."

"Art says you were quite heroic in that explosion, that you saved a lot of lives."

"Hmm, my own included. I don't know how heroic self-preservation is."

Emma smiled. "Well, I'm still impressed."

Hermione chuckled.

"I could show you how to knit if you like." Emma said. "My mum's a big knitter and taught us all how to do it."

"All of you? How many children are in your family?"

"Five girls."

"Oh, my," Hermione said. "Things must seem pretty tame around here."

Emma nodded. "Rather nice, really."

"Well," Hermione said, "if you're willing to teach, I'm willing to learn."

"Alright then," Emma said, reaching for some knitting needles and yarn that were sitting on the coffee table.

Thirty frustrated minutes later, Hermione threw down her knitting, "Oh, bugger it all, it's too late to get it done anyway."

Emma looked up wide-eyed, her own knitting flawless in her lap.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered. "It's a mess and it's no use anyway."

"What are you trying to make?"

Hermione sighed. "It's a Weasley tradition."

Emma raised her eyebrows.

Hermione smiled. "Every year for Christmas, my mother-in-law makes each of her children a jumper with their first initial on it. Ron's is always maroon, which he hates, but I've sort of learned to love those jumpers over the years. So when Artie was born, I decided to do the same thing, only without the initial, but I always did it with my wand because I'd taught my wand all my mother's stitches and she was a much better knitter than I am. Anyway, even if I mastered the stitches I need to make the jumper there isn't enough time before Christmas, so what's the point?"

"What were you going to make this year?"

Hermione pulled her bag of yarn over so Emma could see it. "I was just going to make a simple crew neck jumper from this green wool.

"Ooh," Emma said, fondling the wool. "This is really nice. He'd look really good in this."

"Yes," Hermione sighed.

"Well," Emma bit her lip. "Um. My wand knows the stitches, so I could cast the charm for you, if you'd like."

Hermione smiled broadly. "I'd like that very much."

Emma pulled out her wand and cast the necessary charms to make Hermione's knitting needles begin the jumper.

"I really appreciate this," Hermione said.

"Well, I really appreciate you letting me stay for Christmas," Emma said as she unraveled the knitting she'd been doing to demonstrate stitches for Hermione.

"We're delighted to have you."

Emma smiled, but her eyes were glassy. "I'm really happy to be here," she said. "Look, I'm really tired though, so if you don't mind, I think I'll go ahead and turn in."

"Of course," Hermione said.

It was late when Ron and Art finally came home.

"I'm sorry, luv," Ron said, leaning down and kissing Hermione, "but your son, wanted to stop and have a pint with his cousins."

"That's not true, Mum. It was Dad's idea."

Ron flopped down in the chair next to Hermione's. "The boy lies."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Where's Emma?" Art asked, looking around.

"It's after midnight, Arthur," Hermione said pointedly. "She's gone to bed."

"Oh," Art said, crestfallen. "Right then. I guess I should be going up too."

Ron watched Art ascending the stairs before turning to Hermione. "And how are you feeling?"

"Honestly?"

Ron nodded, "Course."

"I wasn't sure I could make it upstairs so I waited."

"Oh, Hermione," Ron said, letting his head fall back against the chair. "You want me to cast mobilicorpus or do you just want a helping hand."

"Just a helping hand, I think."

Ron stood and held a hand out to her, which she gratefully accepted. He got on her good side and they made their way slowly up the stairs.

"I'm really sick of this," Hermione said as they reached the landing.

"I know," Ron nodded.

"You know what I want?" she asked, as they continued down the hall to their bedroom.

"What?"

"A good shag and my wand back."

"In that order?" Ron asked.

"Yes."

"Well, I think you're going to have to wait a bit on both."

"I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew what I want."

"It's duly noted." Ron smiled and pulled the covers back on the bed.

"Good," Hermione muttered.

He was pretty sure she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.


	21. Forgetting

Chapter 21: Forgetting

When Art came into the bedroom, he was disappointed to find Emma fast asleep curled into a little ball, with the blanket pulled all the way up and tucked tightly under her chin. He pulled off his clothes and put on his dressing gown and headed to the shower. He didn't want Emma waking up to find him reeking of stale beer and cigarette smoke.

As he let the hot water sluice over him, he considered having a wank. He thought back to Emma's sleeping form. He didn't really want to wank, he was sick of wanking. He wanted Emma and he was rather tired of not being able to have her. _Count your blessings_, he reminded himself, _at least she didn't dump you outright._ He sighed and turned off the water.

He stood by the bed for a minute trying to decide whether to sleep naked or if he should wear pajamas. The fire was dying down, so he placed a couple of more logs on before deciding to just wear his boxers to bed.

As soon as he slid in the bed though, Emma woke, and rolled toward him.

"You're back," she murmured sleepily. She curled up next to him. He was a tad disappointed to find her wearing a gown.

He slid his arm around her, and she cuddled closer. He leaned over, kissed her softly and gently stroked her neck. Slowly, he trailed his fingers lower until he was caressing her breasts. She didn't open her eyes but rolled over on her back, giving him better access. The gown had about a million buttons holding the front of it together. He decided it might be fun to just unbutton them all and work his way down. When he'd opened enough buttons to bare her breasts he took them in turns, licking and nibbling at them as his fingers continued the unbuttoning. When he had her unbuttoned to the waist he realized, to his delight, that she wasn't wearing any knickers.

_Yes! _Art thought. He quickly finished unbuttoning the gown and opened it up completely. Her body glowed in the firelight and Art could feel desire burn through him. Part of him just wanted to jump on her and bury himself deep inside her, but another part wanted to take his time, make this really good, to remind her what she'd been missing.

He began kissing his way down her body. He definitely wanted her to remember what she'd been missing. He wasn't even sure she was fully awake until she cried out in orgasm. Art grinned. _Score!_

Downstairs, Ron had just started to doze off when he startled awake at the sound of someone crying out. He sat up and was reaching for his wand before he realized what it was. "Damn that boy," he muttered, and thought, _lessons on silencing charms are tomorrow's first order of business._

He looked over to see if Hermione had woken. She was still sleeping soundly. _Lucky, that_, Ron thought as he glared at the ceiling.

The next morning, Art felt like a new man. He awoke at six o'clock, as usual, pulled on some pajamas and made his way merrily down to the kitchen. Generally, the only other person up with him was his mother, so he was surprised to see his father sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, reading _The Daily Prophet_.

"Oi, Dad, you're up early," Art said, warming the teapot with his wand and pouring himself a cup.

Ron looked at him bleary-eyed. "Your mum woke up about four o'clock in a lot of pain. I was up with her, getting her potions and what-not."

"Is she still awake?" Art asked, sitting across from his father.

"No," Ron yawned. "She fell back asleep about half an hour ago, but I couldn't sleep so I decided to go ahead and get up."

"I'm sorry, is there anything I can do?" Art asked and sipped his tea.

"Do you know how to cast a silencing charm?"

Art looked at him. "Of course, do you want me to put one on her room so we don't disturb her?"

"No," Ron hissed. "I want you to put one on your room so you don't wake me while you're shagging your girl."

Art could feel his face heat up with a blush. "I'm sorry, Dad. It completely slipped my mind."

"Well, I hope the contraceptive charm didn't also slip your mind."

Art dropped his teacup spilling tea all over the table and himself and breaking the cup.

"Bloody hell, Art!" Ron said standing and pulling out his wand.

Art looked up at him, terror coursing through him. "Sorry, Dad. I just need to…" he looked down at his tea spattered pajamas, "go change." He tore up the stairs taking them two at a time.

"Em!" he shouted throwing the door open.

Emma startled awake and sat up in bed. "What?"

Art shut the door behind him. "I forgot the charm," he gasped.

"What charm?"

"The contraceptive charm. I forgot it. I was just so happy to be able to touch you. I was so focused on that, I just forgot." He stumbled to the bed and dropped to his knees. "I'm so sorry, Em. I'm so sorry."

Emma sighed. "Relax," she said. "I cast it before I went to bed. They last twelve hours, so we're fine."

"Oh," Art said, holding a hand to his chest and sitting back on his ankles. "Oh, thank heavens." He took deep calming breaths.

"What is that all over you?" Emma asked, looking at his pajamas.

"Oh," Art said, looking down. "Tea. Burns a bit actually." He stood and began stripping off his damp clothes. He took a quick cool shower but his skin still stung from where the hot tea hit it. When he got out of the shower, Emma was gone. He pulled on his dressing gown and went down stairs.

"Dad," Art said from the kitchen door, "do we have any potions for burns?" Art noticed that his father had cleaned up the spilled tea and repaired the cup. Emma was sitting across from him. She was having tea and a piece of toast with treacle.

"Check your mother's potion cabinet."

Art went through the parlor and opened the pocket doors into his mother's study. The potion cabinet stood against the back wall, and as usual it took some effort getting to it. As he sifted through the neatly labeled bottles, he marveled at his mother's filing system. He knew she must have one, but for the life of him he couldn't figure it out. He ended up going through every shelf. He found what he was looking for on the top shelf, but before he turned away five tiny bottles with a silvery substance in them caught his eye. He picked one up to read the label, but there was only a date.

He pocketed one, and then used the burn balm and put it back where he'd found it.

"Oi, Dad, what is this?" Art asked as he walked into the kitchen. He was surprised to see that his mother was up now too and at the table as well. He held up the little bottle for all of them to see.

Hermione's eyes widened.

"There are five of these little bottles in the potions cabinet, but they don't have labels, only dates."

Hermione stood and took the bottle from his hand. "They're memories, they're mine, and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave them alone." She walked out of the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Art called after her. He looked at his father. "I didn't know what they were. I was just curious."

Ron nodded. "Well, now you know. Have some toast." He stood and followed Hermione.

He found her sitting behind her desk staring at the bottle. Ron closed the doors behind him. He moved a pile of books on to the floor and sat in the chair on the other side of her desk. "Five?" he asked.

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. After a long moment, she stood up, took the other 4 bottles out of the potions cabinet and set them on the desk. She went across the room to another cabinet, moved several items and came back with a shallow stone basin. "You want to know what they are? Look for yourself. I'm going back to bed."

Ron sat for a long time looking at the bottles. He picked them up and looked at the dates. One of them was from their 7th year at Hogwarts. He knew what that one was. There was another one right after graduation that he also knew. The other three were from when she was with Viktor. He sighed and looked from the bottles to the Pensieve. He was tempted to see what all she'd wanted out of her mind permanently. On the other hand, he knew that one of those memories was of what happened to her when she was kidnapped in Bulgaria and he couldn't stand the thought of being a helpless bystander to that. Unfortunately, he didn't know which date that was. Finally, he gathered up all the bottles and put them back in the potions cabinet. He put the Pensieve away and went up to their bedroom.

He found her in bed reading.

She looked up at him warily.

"I didn't look."

Hermione looked surprised. "Why not?"

"Well," Ron said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Two of the dates I recognized." He sighed. "I kind of wish I could get those memories out of my head as well, but I'm rubbish at all sorts of memory charms. And the others, well, I think I can guess what they are and I don't think I want to experience any of them."

Hermione nodded. "I just didn't want you to think I was trying to hide anything. I've told you about everything in those bottles to the best of my ability."

Ron leaned over and kissed her. "That's good enough then."

Downstairs, Art and Emma were finishing up their meager breakfast.

"So your mum has some of her memories bottled? I didn't even know you could that. Do you suppose it's hard? I'd love to get rid of a few of my memories."

Art looked at her. "Really? What sort of memories would you like to chuck?"

Emma shrugged. "You know, this and that. Where's Winky today? Doesn't she make breakfast?"

"Not on weekends," Art answered, licking the treacle from his fingers. "Mum's rule. She says Winky deserves some time to herself. Winky says she'd just as soon cook breakfast, but Mum insists."

"Your mum's gone back to bed," Ron said as he walked into the kitchen. "What are you two up to today?"

"Well, Clive wants us to come round the Three Broomsticks this afternoon. I thought we might shop this morning in Diagon Alley and then Apparate to Hogsmeade."

"Very good then," Ron said, and ambled out to the parlor to read the rest of his morning paper.

The rest of the week went by easily for Ron. He got used to having Art and Emma in the house and, to his relief, they were appropriately restrained around each other. There were no repeats of the first night's failure to use a silencing charm, and when he'd pulled Art aside and verified the use of contraception charms, all seemed in line there as well.

Hermione grew stronger every day. She still slept a lot and her sleeping patterns were a bit bizarre, but Ron had grown used to that as well. She managed to stay up as a proper hostess for the company Christmas party, and even made polite small talk with Lavender. He knew she was definitely on the mend when she took the Floo, without incident, to the burrow for the family Christmas festivities.

Ron was feeling very satisfied with himself as he said good-bye to Emma on Boxing Day. She was off to spend a few days with her parents until it was time to return to Hogwarts. Art was going with her to the train station and then it would just be the three of them for the remainder of the holiday. It always made Ron happy to have just the three of them together. It reminded him of the days before Art went to school and he knew he'd have very few of those left. He wasn't sure if Emma was "the one" but if not her, it would be some other bird and then Art would be off to visit her family and having children of his own.

Ron smiled and walked into the parlor where Hermione was reading by the fire. "I love you, you know that?"

She smiled up at him. "I was just thinking about you."

"Yeah?"

"I'm feeling loads better, and I managed the Floo. I suspect I'll be ready for a new wand soon."

"That's great, luv."

"Yeah, but you know what I want before I get a new wand?"

Ron raised his eyebrows, suddenly remembering their conversation several days ago. "Oh."

"Think you can manage that?"

"Oh, yeah!" Ron grinned and reached for her.

She laughed as he pulled her on to his lap. "My aren't we eager."

"Yes, yes we are," Ron agreed. He held her face in his hands and pulled her toward him for a kiss. He breathed her in, pressing his lips against hers and smiling when she parted hers and ran her tongue along his. It had been too long. He slid his hand down and cupped her breast.

Hermione pulled back. "You know, with Art in the house, perhaps the parlor isn't the best place for this."

Ron sighed. He slipped his arms under her and stood without much effort and started toward the stairs.

"You're carrying me to the bedroom?" Hermione smirked. "How gallant."

"I'm just trying to keep you from escaping."

"Not much danger of that." She smiled.

Ron was surprised by how light she was. She'd never really been heavy, but clearly she'd lost more weight during her convalescence than he'd realized. Of course, it wasn't too surprising he hadn't noticed, he suddenly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her naked. Was it the morning Michelle performed the procedure? Could that be right? Surely not, but he couldn't recall seeing her naked since then. He held her closer and continued up the stairs. He set her gently on the bed and pulled his wand, lit the lamp, and sealed the door with a silencing charm.

When he turned back to Hermione she had an eyebrow arched. "Ooh, are you going to make me scream, Ron?"

He gave her a lascivious grin. "I certainly hope so."

"Then douse the lamp and let's see what you've got," Hermione replied cheekily.

Ron frowned. "No, come on, it's been ages, let me leave the light on."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't want to do that, Ron. It's worse than before. It's not like I've ever been much to look at, but now…" She shook her head again.

Ron knelt before her and looked into her eyes. "You've always been lovely to look at."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Come on, luv." He tugged at the sash on her dressing gown.

She stood up and walked away from him. Ron mentally kicked himself.

Hermione took a deep breath and blew it out. She didn't turn around. "Well, fine. No sense being squeamish, it's not like I can hide it forever." She dropped the dressing gown and Ron could see that her nightgown hung off her like it belonged to someone else, someone much larger. That was a little scary because that gown was one his favorites specifically because he liked the way it hugged her curves. He bit his bottom lip as she pulled the gown over her head and let it drop to the floor. This time he couldn't help but gasp. He saw her shoulders tense at the sound.

"I told you it wasn't good," she said.

"You're so thin," Ron said, walking toward her. "Why have you lost so much weight? You eat constantly."

"Restoring my magic takes a lot of energy. It's been really draining." She kept her back to him.

He put his hands gently on her shoulders. He noticed the scar across her shoulder was longer and thicker, more jagged than it used to be. She was tense beneath his hands. He moved her hair aside and kissed her neck. "You're so thin, it makes your hair look bigger."

"Oh, good. Just what I've always wanted, bigger hair."

Ron chuckled and kissed her neck again. He knelt and planted kisses all over her back, circling her waist with his hands. He noticed the scar along her side was longer and thicker now too, running almost from her armpit down passed her hip. For a moment he flashed on the morning of the procedure, all the blood, her hoarse cries. He rested his forehead against her back for a moment and forced himself to breath and pushed the images from his mind. He hadn't lost her. She was right here, and she needed him, needed him to love her, needed him to desire her and needed him to ease her fears. Ron ran his tongue from the base of her spine all the way to her neck. It was weird to feel each vertebra so distinctly, but it had the desired effect. Her flesh goose-pimpled. He smiled. He put his hands back on her shoulders and turned her around.

"Ron," she said softly.

"Shh," he said and kissed her, deeply and to his joy, she matched him. She ran her tongue along his and slid her hands into his hair, pulling him down, drinking him in.

Normally, at a moment like this, he would simply pick her up and take her against the wall, but that seemed ill advised in her condition. He was literally afraid she would break. He knelt in front of her and began lavishing attention on her breasts with his tongue, dancing across the scar between them, which like its companions, was longer and thicker than before. He started going through various positions in his mind. Him on top was out; he was too heavy. Her on top seemed like a lot of work for her and this wasn't supposed to be about that. All the gymnastic stuff was out. Getting behind her seemed a little rough for this sort of occasion, besides he didn't want her thinking he didn't want to look at her. He sat on the floor, cupped her ass in his hands and slid his tongue between her legs. She went weak in the knees but he held her in place, which given her weight loss was pretty easy. She started making those sexy little noises above him. He considered just bringing her off with his tongue and leaving it at that, but discarded that idea immediately. She'd never be satisfied with just that or worse, she might be offended, thinking he didn't want to be inside her, which he most certainly did. Finally, he settled on a compromise position, hot enough to make her feel sexy, but not so hot as to push her too hard.

He nipped at her lightly and looked up. She was trembling. "Alright there, luv."

She nodded wild-eyed at him.

He kissed her belly button and got to his feet. "Come here."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at her. "Why don't you sit in my lap and tell me about your day."

She cocked her head to one side and pursed her lips. Slowly one side of her mouth slid into smile. She knelt with her legs on either side of him and slid her hand down to shift him to her entrance. She bit her bottom lip as she slid down his length and leaned back. He cupped her ass and supported her weight as she shifted her legs to wrap around his waist. "I don't remember my day," she hissed.

"Good," Ron growled back. He sucked in a ragged breath at the feel of her. "How do you stay so tight?"

She looked him in the eye and poked her tongue between her teeth. "With intention."

"Cheeky," was all he could respond.

She kissed him then, and the dance began in earnest. He set the rhythm and she matched him, until, as promised, she lost it with a throaty cry. He wasn't far behind. It was all she could do to get back into a kneeling position. As soon as her legs were out of the way, Ron fell back against the bed. She fell forward on top of him. He pulled the blankets over them.

"Let's not ever go that long without sex again," Hermione said, kissing his chest.

"Deal," Ron said and closed his eyes.


	22. An Unexpected Return

Chapter 22: An Unexpected Return

Hermione was frustrated with her inability to sleep. Ever since she had started feeling better, her sleep schedule had been inexplicably out of whack. So she found herself rattling around the kitchen at midnight for no apparent reason, which was particularly frustrating since she had left Ron sated and dreaming peacefully upstairs. She was certainly sated, but she resented not being able to sleep.

Winky appeared almost immediately. "Does Miss need her Winky?"

Hermione smiled wistfully. "I don't suppose you could make some chamomile tea, could you? I'm having trouble sleeping."

"Right away, Miss," Winky said. She snapped her fingers and a steaming cup appeared. She set it in front of Hermione. "Biscuits, Miss?"

Hermione sighed. "Just a couple."

Winky smiled broadly and two biscuits appeared on a small plate. It pleased her so to feed someone.

Hermione was munching contentedly looking out the window at a heavy snow coming down when she heard a clattering outside as though someone had run into the trash bins. Hermione went to the door and saw someone in a dark cloak struggling to stand on the slick sidewalk, which was already more than ankle deep in snow. When the person said "lumos," Hermione could see it was Emma by the weak light of her wand.

She opened the door. "Emma?"

Emma had the hood of her cloak up and it covered most of her face, but she was clearly startled that someone had opened the door. "Professor Weasley?"

"Come in, Emma. Did you forget something? I thought you were with your parents for the rest of the holiday." As Emma made her way gingerly up the front steps, Hermione could clearly see that something was wrong. She kept her head tucked and her shoulders were slumped. She was soaking wet.

"Good heavens, Emma," Hermione said, as she closed the door behind them. "How long have you been out there? You're soaked through."

"I couldn't Apparate," Emma said through chattering teeth, "so I had to wait for the Knight Bus, only being on that thing was making me sick, so I got off early and walked the last few blocks."

"Winky," Hermione called, "could you fetch Emma some tea?" She turned back to Emma. "Let me take your cloak."

Emma shrank away from her for a moment, but then yielded. Hermione noticed that she pulled her hair over her face as she pulled off the wet cloak. It didn't do much to cover the dark bruise and small cut on her cheek.

Hermione looked at her with concern. "Come into the parlor by the fire."

Winky appeared with the tea which Emma gratefully accepted as she stood trembling on the hearth.

"Can you do a warming charm, Winky?" Hermione asked.

The little elf complied, and Emma relaxed some. Winky looked expectantly at Hermione, wringing her tiny hands. Clearly she'd noticed Emma's face as well.

"Thank you, Winky, that will be all for the moment. Can you wait in the kitchen for a bit?"

The elf disappeared and Hermione turned to Emma. "So what's happened then?"

Emma closed her eyes and sipped her tea. "I've had a row with my parents. I'm sorry to come back here so late. I was hoping to find Art awake. I didn't know where else to go. I'll send an owl to Professor McGonagall, I'm sure she'll let me come back to school early."

"Emma, you're welcome to stay here for the rest of the holiday. What happened to your face?"

Emma ducked her head. "Nothing. I hit it on a rubbish bin when I fell."

Hermione could tell she was lying. The bruise was already dark and the cut had scabbed over, but she wasn't sure if she should pursue it. "Well, let me fetch Ron, he's very good with this sort of healing charm, what with Quidditch and the war and raising a boy. Winky?" she called.

Winky appeared and Hermione dispatched her to get Ron.

"I'm really fine," Emma said. "I don't want you to wake him. It can wait until morning."

"Cuts can scar if you don't treat them immediately, Emma," Hermione said. "You don't want a scar on your cheek, you're far too lovely for that."

Ron stumbled down the stairs a few minutes later. "What is it? Oh, hullo, Emma, what brings you back here?"

"She's had a row with her parents," Hermione answered for her.

Ron looked at her face. "Someone hit you?"

Emma shook her head. "No, I just fell into the rubbish bins outside."

Ron wrinkled his forehead and looked kindly at her. "Rubbish bins don't have fists with rings on them, luv."

Emma's eyes filled with tears.

"Who hit you?" Art said from the doorway.

Hermione looked up. "I didn't know you were awake."

"I was reading in bed and heard voices." He walked past his mother to Emma. "Who hit you?"

She shook her head, tears falling in earnest.

"Come on now, son," Ron moved past Art.

"Let me take care of those." He pulled out his wand and cast two healing charms, one for the cut and one for the bruise. He looked at Hermione and they both looked at Emma who stood silently crying on the hearth.

Art put his arms around her and she slumped against him. "Was it your Dad?" Art asked softly.

Emma only cried harder. "I'm so stupid," she mumbled into his chest.

"That bastard," Art hissed.

"Emma," Hermione interjected, "when he hit you…did you retaliate in any way?"

"What kind of question is that?" Art asked.

"An important one, Art. Hush. Emma, seriously, did you use magic in any way as a response? It's alright if you did, I just need to know, because I'll need to send some owls out right away."

Emma looked up from Art's chest. "No. I didn't."

"Are you sure?" Hermione cautioned. "Not even accidentally. It happens, you know. Harry blew up his Aunt once by accident."

Emma squared her shoulders indignantly. "I can control my magic, besides, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He's always going on about how dangerous I am. I just summoned my things and left."

Art looked around. "Where are your things?"

Emma sighed. "I did a shrinking spell. They're in my cloak."

"Art, why don't you go get them and then draw Emma a nice hot bath. I'm sure she'd like to get out of those wet things."

Art kissed Emma's forehead. "Yeah, I'll do that. Why don't you go upstairs?"

Emma nodded.

Hermione gave Ron a look.

"Right," he said. "I'll be off to bed then."

Hermione nodded.

When Art went into the foyer, she turned back to Emma, who was pushing tears off her cheeks and struggling to pull herself together.

"Emma," Hermione said gently. "Are you hurt anywhere else? Do you need to see a healer? I can send for one."

Emma shook her head and then looked up sharply. "No, no it's not like that. It was just a row over dinner. The whole family was there. Really, it's not a habit or anything."

Hermione pushed a stray hair behind Emma's ear. "Alright then, dear." She tilted her head toward the stairs, "Did you want me to walk you up? I can see to it you get your own room, if you'd like."

Emma blushed, but shook her head. "I think I'd rather prefer the company if it's all the same to you."

Hermione nodded. "Alright then. Off to bed with you, no sense standing down here in wet things when there's a hot bath waiting."

When Hermione went upstairs she found Ron pacing in their bedroom. He looked at her crossly when she came in.

"What kind of father --"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know."

"The more I think about it, the angrier I get. I've a good mind to show that Muggle git a piece of my wand."

"No, Ron. It's not our place. Emma's a grown witch. We need to follow her lead on this. I've told her she can stay with us for the rest of the holiday. I think that's all we can do for the moment."

"Well, I don't like it," Ron said gruffly.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "Me either," she sighed.


	23. Sins of Omission

Chapter 23: Sins of Omission

Upstairs, Emma hesitated a moment before going into Art's room. She wondered if she should have taken Professor Weasley up on a room to herself. Then again, the prospect of spending the night alone rather than in Art's arms didn't seem that appealing either. She sighed and opened the door. She found Art in the adjoining bathroom sitting on the edge of a tub full of bubbles.

She raised one eyebrow at him. "Bubbles?"

"What?" Art asked.

She scowled at him.

"Oh, no, I just thought they were, you know…festive."

"Festive?"

Art shrugged. "I thought you could use something cheery."

Emma sighed. "Yeah, I guess I could at that." But she didn't move toward the tub.

Art seemed to think privacy was the issue. "Oh," he said, standing. "I'll just get out of your way then."

It seemed too complicated to explain that her feet felt like lead, so she made the effort and moved into the bathroom. Art exited closing the door behind him.

Emma pulled off her clothes, feeling as though her arms were leaded too. She got into the tub of hot water, but felt strangely cold. It suddenly seemed unbearably lonely to be sitting in the bath by herself.

"Art?"

Art answered from the other side of the door. "Yeah?"

"Could you…" _Could he what? _Emma thought. "Could you wash my back?" She winced as soon as the words were out. _Now he's going to get the wrong idea_.

Art opened the door. "Course." He pulled a flannel from a stack on the vanity. He used his wand to transfigure the bathmat into a pillow and knelt on that next to the tub.

Emma couldn't help but admire his magic. "Nice, that"

"I made the mistake of asking Mum to help me with my transfiguration. She's got me on this brutal schedule, but, I have to admit, it's working."

Emma nodded and adjusted the bubbles to give her more coverage. She wasn't sure why, she just felt really shy all of a sudden. _Brilliant, _she thought,_ you invited him in here. Now what?_

But Art decided for her. He dipped the flannel into the tub and began doing as she'd asked. He washed her back. He wasn't being particularly vigorous, or even slow and sexy, he just took his time.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly.

Emma shook her head, but found that she really did want to talk. She just wasn't sure where to start. "I miss my grandparents," she said quietly, and to her horror she started to cry.

Art set the flannel on the side of the tub and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, Em."

She shook her head. "Don't be, I'm just being stupid. It's been months since Gran died. Two years for Pops."

"When you're close to people I don't think it matters how long it's been."

Emma nodded. "It's just so hard without them. They were the only other magical people in the family. They took me in after the accident, raised me really, from the time I was seven until I went to Hogwarts."

Art sat down on the pillow and leaned against the side of the tub. "I didn't know you used to live with your grandparents. What accident?"

Emma flicked at some bubbles. "Oh, I put my father on the roof. He was yelling at my sister and me for playing too close to the street and I just wished he'd go away and suddenly he was on the roof."

Art grinned.

"It's not funny," Emma scolded. "It ruined my life, that wish. He was terrified of me after that. Still is, actually." 

"Well, that's just silly," Art said. "You were just a kid."

"It's not silly to a Muggle, who's only ever known Muggles; it's frightening."

"Well, how did he know it was you then?"

"He didn't. Mum did. She's a squib. Only, she kind of left that part out when they were falling in love and getting married."

Art let out a low whistle.

"Yeah, kind of a big thing to leave out."

"Yeah, so I guess your dad didn't take the news well?"

"No, especially not when wizards from the Ministry showed up along with my grandparents. He was only too happy to send me packing."

"What about your mum?"

"She was devastated, crying. So were my sisters – well at least Betty. The twins were just babies when I left and little June hadn't even been born. They don't really even know me."

Art sat back, clearly stunned. "That's…I don't even know what that is. So you just went and lived with your grandparents?"

Emma nodded. "It wasn't so bad, really. They were thrilled to have me and they taught me loads. I loved the wizarding world, but I missed my family too. It was confusing."

"Did you get to go home at all?"

Emma blew out a frustrated breath. "Sure. From boxing day to New Year's Eve and one week in the summer. Other than that I was with my grandparents or at school."

Art cocked his head and looked at her. "So what happened tonight?"

Emma could feel her throat closing. She shook her head. "I don't…I don't really want to talk anymore tonight." She glanced down at his crotch. "And from the look of things, neither do you."

Art looked at his lap. "Oh, don't mind him, he's always like that."

Emma smiled. "Yes, I know, but I don't mind."

Thankfully, Art didn't press for more talk. Boys were easy that way. He stood and held out his hand to her and she let him help her out of the tub. He wrapped her in a big fluffy towel and was drying her off when he stopped suddenly.

"Em?" He was staring at her hip.

"What?"

"There's a huge bruise here."

She glanced down. "Oh, I fell out of the chair at dinner and hit the hearth. No big deal."

"Are you sure? It looks painful. I could get Dad."

Emma glared at him. "You want your Dad to see me starkers?"

"No!" Artpractically shouted. "It's just, well I could go get one of the medical spell books from Mum's library. I should be able to fix it."

"Art, it's just a bruise. It'll go away on its own. You don't have to use magic to fix everything. Some things just fix themselves." It came out sharper than she meant for it to.

"I know that," Art said, looking somewhat stricken. "I just hate the idea of you hurting if you don't have to be."

She sighed and put her hand lightly on his chest. "A bruise is the least of my worries. Let's go to bed, yeah?"

Art followed her out of the bath and back into the bedroom. She used her wand to enlarge her suitcase back to normal size so she could find a nightgown. As she was rummaging through it she tried not to think about the fact that it's contents were the sum total of her belongings in the world.

Art was already in bed when she crawled in beside him. He spooned against her, and although she could feel him hard against the base of her spine, he seemed content to just hold her, for which she was deeply appreciative.


	24. At the Core

Chapter 24: At the Core

Then next morning when Emma came down for breakfast she noticed that there were two racing brooms in the foyer. In the kitchen, Art was already at the table eating with his parents. It amused Emma that they each had their own copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and that they were all reading.

His parents nodded their good mornings and went back to their papers.

"Morning, Em. I thought you'd lie in a bit more," Art said.

Emma pushed her hair back and sat down at the table. "No, I'm up."

"What can Winky get for Miss Emma?" Winky asked.

"Coffee and poached eggs and toast, if it's not too much trouble."

"It's no trouble for Winky, miss." A moment later, the little elf handed Emma a plate and a cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Winky."

The little elf beamed.

"What's with the brooms?" Emma asked.

"Oh," Art said, setting down his newspaper. "It's Quidditch today, Dad's employees versus Aunt Ginny's. I play and so do Clive and Devin." He winked at her. "It's a brutal rivalry."

Ron slammed down his paper. "It is! I swear, boy, if we lose this year, I'm cutting you out of the will."

Art rolled his eyes. "Dad and Aunt Ginny are brutal. The rest of us are just in it for the fresh air and a bit of a laugh. You can come if you like."

Emma looked at Hermione. "Are you going?"

Hermione looked at her over the edge of the paper. "Heavens no. I love Ron and I love Ginny, but I can't stand either one of them when they're on a broom. They're horrible. I miss the days when they both played for Gryffindor and all the competitive brutality went toward the other team."

"Oh please," Ron scoffed. "A little healthy competition never hurt anyone."

"There is nothing healthy about this," Hermione admonished.

"Rubbish," Ron said, ignoring her.

"You just threatened to disown your son, how is that healthy?" Hermione asked.

"I threatened to cut him out of the will, not disown him," Ron corrected. "Besides he knows I'm only joking." He glared at Art. "Mostly."

Emma smiled weakly at Art. "I think I'll pass. I'm behind on my revisions. If you don't mind, Professor Weasley, I'll just stay here."

Hermione nodded as she sipped her tea. "Not at all. Use my library if you like. I think you'll find any texts you need there."

Emma nodded.

"So what are you going to do today since you won't be cheering for your husband and only son in their important Quidditch match?" Ron asked pointedly.

"I have an appointment with the healer, and if that goes well, I'm going into Diagon Alley and buying a new wand."

Ron set his fork down rather forcefully on the table. "You didn't tell me you had an appointment today? I should go with you."

Hermione shook her head. "That's really not necessary. I can take the Floo now. I can go on my own."

"Alone? Without a wand? Are you mad?" Ron's voice was getting louder.

"Ron," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "it's perfectly safe for me to go to St. Mungo's by myself."

"No!" Ron said firmly.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Hermione asked, exasperated.

"I don't know, so no, you can't go alone." He glowered at her to emphasize his point.

Hermione's lips tightened into a thin line and her jaw clinched. She took a deep breath. "Fine. Emma, dear?"

Emma looked up startled. She had been trying to pretend she wasn't witnessing what was clearly turning into a row between Art's parents. "Yes?" she squeaked.

"Would you be so kind as to accompany me this afternoon to St. Mungo's and possibly to the wand shop?"

Emma looked at Art, who was no help at all and merely shrugged. "Oh, um, sure." Emma winced as she said it, worried now that Ron's temper would be turned on her.

"Well," Ron said standing.

Emma shrank back.

"Alright then. Art, we should be going."

He leaned down and kissed the top of Hermione's head. "Thank you for seeing reason."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Ron turned to Emma. "You're a godsend, Emma. If I'd had to forfeit the game, there would have been no end of it from Ginny."

Ron went into the foyer for coats and brooms. Art leaned over and kissed Emma on the cheek. "We always go to the pub after the game. You'll come, yeah?"

Emma nodded.

"How about you?" Ron asked Hermione from the door.

She nodded.

Ron grinned at her. "Come on, Art."

As the two men left, Hermione turned to Emma. "I'm sorry you'll have to interrupt your revisions."

Emma smiled. "I'm not. I'm sure I'll need a break by this afternoon."

A few hours later, Hermione appeared in the library doorway. "Emma, we need to be going."

They took the Floo to St. Mungo's. The hospital entrance was chilly so Emma tucked her hands into the pockets of her cloak. She was surprised to feel a bit of paper in the left pocket. She pulled it out and read it while Hermione went to check in at the front desk.

"What's that then?" Hermione asked as she walked over to where Emma was still standing.

"A note from my mum."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up.

"She wants me to meet her at The Leaky Cauldron."

"When?"

"Three o'clock?"

"Today?" Hermione asked.

"Actually, she says any day. She says she'll be there every day at three o'clock for an hour."

Hermione looked at the giant clock in the waiting area. "Well, it's not even one yet. I don't think my appointment will take long, so I'm sure we'll be in Diagon Alley before three."

Emma stood staring at the paper.

"Emma?" Hermione touched her arm.

Emma looked up at her.

"You don't have to go. Or, I could go with you if you like."

Emma shook her head. "I don't know."

Someone called Hermione's name.

"Think about it," Hermione said, and followed a house elf to her appointment.

Hermione sat trying not to fidget in the gray steel chair while Michelle recorded something from her previous appointment.

She set down her quill and looked up. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Weasley. I just had to get that down."

"I understand," Hermione said cordially. "And please, call me Hermione."

Michelle smiled tightly. "Right. Well, then, how are you feeling?"

"Good. I'm all healed, even the itching has stopped."

"How about magic? Have you tried any?"

"Little things, I still don't have a wand."

"Of course, right, I forgot about that."

"Yes, well," Hermione said tightly, "I haven't."

"Right," Michelle said standing. "No trouble taking the Floo?"

"No," Hermione said, impatient to get on with things. "So can I get a new wand?"

Michelle frowned. "Most likely, but I'd like to do a test, just to make sure you can handle the strain of more powerful magic. What's the most complex magic you can do without a wand?"

"I can do a wandless shield charm."

"Oh," Michelle said, her eyes widening. "Well, that's a bit more complex than I had in mind. On the other hand, the test should suit the subject. Do you think you can manage one now?"

Hermione stood. "Try and hex me and we'll see."

"Hex you?"

"It's difficult to see if I'm producing a strong shield if nothing's being fired at it."

Michelle frowned. "I see your point. Still, it's rather unorthodox. As a healer, I'm not exactly inclined to cast hexes."

Hermione had to remind herself not to roll her eyes. She was reasonably sure Michelle had wanted to hex her for years, and now she was being given the opportunity and didn't want to take it. "My son's girlfriend is in the lobby. I could have her do it."

Michelle sighed. "No, that's alright. I can do it, just stupefy though. Nothing dangerous."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Not to worry."

Michelle pulled out her wand.

The first syllable wasn't passed her lips before Hermione cast the shield charm. She smiled. She knew it was working. She could feel the magic flowing through her. It was deliciously empowering.

Michelle's hex bounced harmlessly away.

Hermione dropped the shield.

"Impressive. How do you feel?" Michelle asked as she pocketed her wand.

"Like I could do that all day," Hermione smiled.

"Then go buy a wand," Michelle smiled back.

Hermione's elation diminished somewhat when she saw Emma slumped in a waiting room chair staring out the window, the scrap of paper from her mother clenched in her hand.

Hermione sat next to her. "So what did you decide?"

Emma avoided the question. "Did she clear you to use a wand?"

Hermione smiled. "Yes."

Emma looked at the clock. "It's just now half past. Let's go get your wand, and we'll see from there."

Hermione nodded. "Fair enough."

They took the Floo to Florish and Botts, which had a Floo connection. The wand maker did not. Hermione sighed as they walked toward what she still considered the new wand shop. She knew this wizard had a very good reputation for making really fine wands, but it was still hard to accept that she'd lost her first wand from Olivander's. She stepped into Selvaratnam Wands and looked around. Emma stood behind her.

"I got my wand from here," Emma said encouragingly. "It's very good."

Hermione nodded. "Oh, I know. We got Art's here too, it's just, I don't know…"

A wizened old wizard stepped out of the back. "Ah," he said, "good morning, ladies. What can I do for you on such a blustery day?"

Hermione sighed. "I'm here for a replacement wand."

"A replacement?" The old wizard said.

"Yes, I lost mine in an explosion. It shattered beyond repair."

The old wizard's eyebrows shot up. "Shattered? That must have been quite the explosion, my dear."

"Yes," Hermione said. "It did rather a number on me as well, but you know what they say, that which doesn't kill us..."

"You must be very strong indeed," Selvaratnam smiled.

Hermione sidestepped the compliment. "My old wand was vine wood with a dragon heartstring core."

The old wizard stroked his beard. "I could show you similar wands, of course, but for someone of your obvious experience, I suggest you simply call your wand."

"But my wand isn't here," Hermione frowned.

"Ah, but it is, my dear," Selvaratnam said, sweeping his hand along the hundreds of boxes lining the wall, "somewhere."

Hermione stared at him a moment, then sighed. "She held out her palm and called her wand just as she would have done at home."

She could hear Emma gasp behind her as boxes began to rattle all over the store as if all of the wands wanted to go flying into Hermione's hand.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated. Finally there was a loud pop as one wand blew through its box and flew into her hand.

Selvaratnum picked up the fallen box and stared at it a moment. "Curious that you would go from vine wood to birch. You must have been very close to death indeed for this wand to chose you."

Hermione sighed. She hadn't expected this. "And the core?"

"Dragon heartstring, of course."

Hermione shrugged. "Why 'of _course,_' -- if the wood can change, why not the core?"

Salvaratnam shook his head. "At the core, do any of us ever really change?"

Hermione frowned at him. "How much?"

The old wizard quoted her a price and Hermione dropped the requisite number of galleons on the counter. She noticed a chipped stoneware mug with a broken handle sitting on the counter. Without asking she waved her wand at it and transfigured it into a sturdy pewter mug.

Salvaratnam smiled. "Thank you, my dear."

"Thank you," Hermione said. "And if anyone should ask about my presence here today, I should prefer it if you didn't give details."

"Discretion is my middle name," the old wizard cooed.

Hermione nodded. "Come along, Emma."

Back out on the street. Hermione tightened her cloak against the cold. She had an almost irresistible urge to run up and down the street casting spells, but she managed to rein it in. "So what do you want to do, Emma?"

Emma looked both ways up and down the street. She took a deep breath. "Fancy a pint, Professor?"

Hermione smile warmly. "I believe I do."

The two walked arm-in-arm, braced against the cold as they made their way to The Leaky Cauldron.


	25. Emma's Dilemma

Chapter 25: Emma's Dilemma

The warmth of the pub was a welcome relief from the bitter cold outside. Hermione and Emma found a quiet booth in the corner with a good view of the door that opened out into Muggle London.

A waitress stopped at their table, smiling. "What can I get for you ladies?"

"A couple of pints," Emma answered.

"What's your soup today?" Hermione asked.

"Lamb and veg stew."

Hermione looked atEmma "Would you like a bowl? I'm famished."

Emma declined, but Hermione ordered a bowl of stew and some bread for herself. The waitress brought the pints first and Emma sat quietly sipping hers as she watched the door for signs of her mother.

Hermione was relieved when the stew arrived. She was starting to feel sick from hunger. The wandless shield charm followed by calling the new wand was a tremendous outlay of energy for someone who hadn't performed magic in a month. It didn't help that the weight she'd lost made the cold wind feel as if it blew right through her. The hot stew was just what she needed. "Are you sure you don't want any?" she asked Emma as she began dipping the crusty bread into the stew.

"No, thanks, Professor. I don't think I could manage to keep anything down just now."

Hermione sighed and mentally kicked herself. Of course, Emma couldn't eat. She was obviously very upset about seeing her mother. Considering the events of last night, Hermione couldn't blame her.

"You really don't need to call me 'professor' anymore, Emma."

"I'm sorry. I keep forgetting," Emma said, wincing.

Hermione smiled. "It's not that I mind. It's just odd now that I'm not teaching anymore."

"It's just hard to think of you as anything other than Professor Weasley."

"Well, whatever you're comfortable with is fine with me."

The door opened at the Muggle end of the pub.

Emma tensed instantly and stood. Hermione rose with her.

The woman who walked in the door wasn't what Hermione was expecting. She was clearly Emma's mother, though. Tall and blonde, like Emma, the mother was more athletic looking than her willowy daughter. Also like Emma, she was beautiful, but her forehead seemed etched in perpetual worry.

"Emma," she called as she hurried over to their table.

"Mum." The two hugged awkwardly. Emma turned to Hermione. "Mum, this is Professor Weasley, Hermione Weasley. She's my boyfriend, Art's, mum."

Emma's mother stuck out her hand "Rachel Silsbury, nice to meet you."

Hermione shook her hand and nodded. "Likewise."

The three sat down.

Rachel Silsbury was quiet and clearly agitated. "I'm sorry," she finally said as her fingers twisted one of the paper napkins on the table. "I didn't realize you would bring someone with you, Emma. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to speak with you in private. Do you mind if we sit over there?"

Hermione was about to say 'go ahead,' but Emma beat her to the punch.

"No," Emma said firmly. "If you have something to say to me, you can say it here."

Hermione and Rachel both looked at Emma in surprise.

"Emma--" her mother started.

"The Weasleys took me in last night when you and Dad kicked me out. She knows what happened, so there's no point trying to hide it," Emma said.

Emma's mother looked stricken. "Emma, you weren't kicked out."

"Oh, please," Emma scoffed. "I've been kicked out for years. Last night just made it final."

"No," Rachel cried. "Your Dad feels awful about last night, Emma."

"Then why isn't he here?" Emma asked coldly.

"You know he's terrified of the magical world, he couldn't come here. You know that." Rachel pleaded.

Emma looked over at the bar. "Right."

"Emma please, you have to understand --"

Emma turned on her mother fiercely. "I do understand," she hissed. "I understand I can't come home this summer. I understand I'm cut off. I understand he doesn't ever want to see me again. I get it. If you came hereto explain that, you can go, because I do understand."

Her mother shook her head sadly.

Hermione was quietly eating her stew and trying to remain inconspicuous.

Rachel pushed an envelope across the table at Emma.

"What's this then?" Emma asked.

"It's the key to your grandparent's account at Gringott's. It's not much, but it should be enough to get you a room somewhere while you look for a job and maybe some work robes."

Emma fingered the envelope.

"It's important that you finish school and get a good job, Emma"Rachel continued.

Emma looked up at her. "Since when do you care?"

Her mother continued twisting the napkin. "I've always wanted you to do well, Emma. You're a bright girl. You deserve a good life."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "And?" she said suspiciously.

Tears came into her mother's eyes. Rachel bit her lip. "I went into the baby's room the other night to check on her."

Emma stared hard at her mother.

"She was standing on her bed and all her dolls and stuffed animals…"

"Were dancing." Emma finished for her.

Her mother sobbed and dropped her face into her hands and nodded.

Emma sat back in her chair. "I see then. I'm to get a good job and do well for myself so I can raise June."

Her mother nodded again but didn't look up.

"Does he know?"

Her mother shook her head. "Not yet, but it wasn't long after I found you making your toys dance that you put your Dad on the roof. June's so much younger though. You were almost seven. She's not even five."

"She hardly even knows me," Emma whispered. "You're going to dump her on a veritable stranger, just like you did me."

Her mother looked up at her. "You will take her though?"

Emma gave her a disgusted look. "Of course, I'll take her. It's either that or let her be raised by people who think she's a monster."

"I don't think she's a monster!" Rachel cried. "I never thought you were a monster, but what am I to do, Emma? I love your Dad. He's a good man. He's just fearful of things beyond his experience. He's been a good father to Betty and the twins and a good husband to me. Am I to leave him and deny the three a father for the good of the two? And if I did that, how am I to support us and where? I've no place in the magical world. I'm a Squib. I could have menial work at best here and how am I to support six of us on that? And if I leave him and stay in the Muggle world, well, I still lose you and June, don't I? It's not an easy choice, Emma. But it is an obvious one."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. She wondered what choices her own parents would have made had she not been an only child or if one of them had been terrified of the magical world. She counted her lucky stars she hadn't had to face Emma's dilemma.

Emma pushed her fingers back through her hair. "When do you want me to come for her?"

Rachel shook her head. "I want you to finish school. I think I can keep this hidden until then."

"And if you can't?" Emma questioned.

Rachel bit her lip. "I don't know."

"How will you contact me? I can't keep coming here every day at three o'clock just in case something's happened."

Her mother kept shaking her head. "I don't know. I don't have an owl. We're not connected to the Floo. I don't know."

Hermione sighed. She took her wand out and transfigured one of the paper napkins into a bit of parchment. She cast a communication spell on the parchment and then a severing spell. She handed a piece of parchment to each of the women. "Here. If one of you writes something on your piece of parchment it will appear on the other piece. When you want to clear it say 'communication cleared,' and it will go blank again. Keep it with you, if it grows hot, that means there's a message."

"Do I need a quill to write on it?" Rachel asked.

Hermione's words were clipped. "No, a ballpoint pen will suffice."

"Thank you," Rachel said solemnly. She turned to Emma who was staring at the bar again.

The barkeep clearly thought she was trying to get his attention. He came over to their table. "Can I get you ladies anything else? Would you like a drink, ma'am?"

Rachel shook her head, but Emma said, "Two more pints, please." She still had most of her first pint left, but she picked it up now and proceeded to drain it.

"Emma, please," her mother pleaded. "I never wanted this. You've got to know, I wouldn't ask this of you if I had a choice."

"Yeah, Mum," Emma said without looking at her, "I know."

The barkeep returned with a pitcher of beer and filled their glasses. He flicked his wand at Hermione's empty soup bowl and bread plate and they soared toward the kitchen.

Rachel looked at her watch. "I've got to go. I'll keep in touch, I promise."

Emma nodded but still wouldn't look at her.

"I love you, Emma. I do. I always have."

Emma drank her beer and didn't say anything.

Her mother stood and dropped the tightly knotted napkin on the table. She turned apologetically to Hermione. "It was nice to have met you. I wish the circumstances had been better."

Hermione nodded, but couldn't think of a thing to say.

Rachel Silsbury hurried from the bar back out into Muggle London.

Emma reached into her purse for the galleons to cover lunch. Hermione stilled her hand with her own.

"I'll get this," Hermione said.

"Thank you," Emma said and drained the rest of her beer. She looked at the untouched fresh pint in front of Hermione, who still had most of her first glass. "Are you going to drink that?"

Hermione shook her head and pushed the beer toward Emma. Her heart was breaking for the girl. What kind of mother asked her seventeen-year-old daughter to raise her four-year-old daughter just because their father couldn't stand the fact that they were different?

Emma picked up the beer and began drinking.

"Emma?"

Emma shook her head and set down the pint. "Please don't say anything, Professor. Please. Not right now. I need…I need some time to digest this before I can talk about it. Please."

Hermione nodded. "Of course, dear."

Emma looked at her. "The match should be over by now, yeah."

"I would think so," Hermione said.

Emma drank the last of the beer. "Then we should probably be going."


	26. Someone Else's Problem

Chapter 26: Someone Else's Problem

When Hermione and Emma arrived at the Three Brook Sticks, Stan the barkeep pointed them upstairs. They could hear the party long before they reached the private room above the bar.

Hermione pushed open the door, and she and Emma were hit with a burst of singing as Ron's employees regaled the room with an off-key rendition of 'Weasley is our King'.Ginny was shaking her head and Harry had his arm around her. Both of them were laughing.

Ron caught sight of Hermione and bounded over. He picked her up and swung her around.

"So I take it you won?" Hermione said a little breathlessly as he set her down.

"Yes, but don't let the song fool you. It was a group effort. Your son, by the way, is a brilliant beater, knocked his aunt right off her broom just as she was about to take the snitch."

"He would have failed if my own son hadn't been flirting while he was supposed to be protecting me," Ginny said, walking up and handing Hermione a pint.

Devin stood behind her looking chagrined. "For the millionth time, Mum, I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't catch the snitch!" Ginny snapped. "Out of my sight, you bugger!"

Devin grinned and shrank back into the crowd.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Art pulling Emma over with his cousins who were loudly exclaiming a blow-by-blow of the day's match. Hermione found the whole Quidditch rivalry between Ron and Ginny amusing. Neither of them ever managed two wins in a row. If she didn't know better, she'd think they purposefully traded off.

Two of Ginny's employees arrived with heavy trays of food.

"At last!" Ginny shouted walking toward them.

Ron hung back and leaned down to ask, "What did Michelle say?"

Hermione smiled, "She said 'buy a wand,' so I did." She pulled the new wand from her robes and handed it to Ron.

He whistled. "Nice, but this isn't vine wood."

"No, it's birch."

"Why the change?" Ron asked as he inspected the wand.

Hermione shrugged. "The old wizard told me to call my wand and that's the one that came."

Ron cocked his head and studied her. "So how do you feel?"

Hermione's smile turned into a grin. She took her wand back. "Like showing off." She flicked her wand at the draperies on the ceiling and they all turned into garish advertisements for Weasley's Enchanted Electronics. Ron laughed.

"Hey!" Ginny shouted, then she turned toward Hermione, her eyes lighting up. "You got a new wand!" she squealed and ran forward to hug her.

Harry followed, as did most of the room, hugs and congratulations came from all directions. Over the joy of her friends and family, Hermione noticed Emma in the corner of the room drinking another pint of beer.

It came as no surprise then, when an hour later Art came over to his parents.

"I'm going to take Emma home."

"Is everything alright?" Ron asked.

Art shoved his hands into the pockets of his Quidditch robes. "Well, yeah, I guess. She's rather drunk actually, which isn't like her. I just think I better take her back."

Ron nodded. "Alright then, I don't expect we'll be far behind."

Art nodded. Hermione watched as he steered Emma toward the fireplace with some difficulty.

Ron looked at Hermione. "Did something happen today?"

Hermione sighed. "Emma had a rotten afternoon, and I'm not sure what there is to be done about it. We should talk, but not here."

Ron tugged on his beard. "Alright then, I guess we should say our good-byes."

It took them a half an hour to make the rounds. Ron had to thank all of his employees and then they stood talking to Harry and Ginny for a while before taking the Floo home.

When they arrived in the parlor a moment later, Winky greeted them. She was wringing her tiny hands.

"Winky, what's wrong?" Ron asked.

"It's master Artie, he's in the kitchen, very upset and he won't tell his Winky what's wrong, sir."

Ron looked at Hermione and they both headed for the kitchen.

"We'll take care of this Winky," Hermione said kindly to the elf.

When they walked into the kitchen, Art was at the table with his head in his hands. He looked up when they walked in and Ron could see he'd been crying.

"What's happened, Art?" Ron asked.

All the blood seemed to drain from Art's face. "I think Emma's pregnant," he said in a choked whisper.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron said pulling a chair out for himself. "I thought you said you were being careful." 

"We were, Dad, I swear. I don't know how this could have happened." He pulled at the hair on the top of his head, which he'd obviously done several times already as it was pointing in a dozen different directions.

Hermione sat at the table next to Art. "Did she tell you she was pregnant?"

Ron looked at Hermione. He thought that was a damn odd question.

Art shook his head. "Not in so many words, she's stone drunk. She kept coming on to me and I was putting her off because, well, she's pissed. And she said, I should have a go now because I wouldn't want her after the baby. Then she passed out. What kind of prat does she think I am that I would get her pregnant and then dump her?"

"Oh," Hermione put a palm to her forehead. "It's not your baby."

"What?" Art said standing so quickly he knocked his chair to the floor.

"What?" Ron shouted at the same time.

Hermione looked up and shook her head quickly. "No, no, you misunderstand. It's not her baby either."

Ron and Art looked at each other and then back at Hermione. "What?" They both said again.

Hermione spent the next several minutes explaining what had happened at the bar with Emma's mother.

"Bloody hell," Art exclaimed when she was finished. "Poor kid, no wonder she got pissed."

"What kind of parent's do that to their own children?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head.

Art sat back in his chair dumbfounded. "What are we going to do?"

Hermione took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "I don't know that there's much we can do."

Ron and Art both looked at her incredulously.

"I'm just saying, Art, that you want to tread carefully. I mean, obviously we can help Emma out, but you really want to think how involved you want to be, son. Taking on a child is a tremendous commitment, one that inevitably changes your life. This isn't your child, Art."

"Well, it's not Emma's either," Art argued.

"No, but it is her sister. If she chooses to raise June, I applaud her commitment to family, but you shouldn't feel bound by the same commitment."

"But I am bound to Emma," Art said emphatically.

"Not legally you aren't," Hermione countered.

"Hermione," Ron cautioned.

"You think I should dump her," Art accused.

"I think nothing of the sort," Hermione responded quickly. "I just think you should think long and hard before you involve yourself in someone else's problems."

"I'm already involved," Art growled.

Hermione held up her palms"Alright, Art, alright."

Artstood. "I'm going to go check on Emma." He stormed out of the room.

Ron looked at Hermione. "Today, before the match, he asked me what your engagement ring cost." He shrugged apologetically.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. She closed her eyes and blew out a slow breath. "Great."


	27. Hard Truths

Chapter 27: Hard Truths

Ron was still asleep when Hermione awoke at six and went into her office to compose a letter to Thomas Greene proposing that she return to work after the New Year. She was reading over it when there was knock on her office door.

"Yes" she called, confused as to who would be knocking. Winky had already brought her tea and a scone.

Art stuck his head in. "Mum?"

"Come in, Art. You don't need to knock, dear."

Art's jaw was clenched as he stepped into the room. He was clearly still angry about her comments last night. Like his father at that age, it took him a while to calm down, sometimes several days. _He must need something very badly to come in here_, Hermione thought.

"Emma was up half the night vomiting. I imagine she's going to feel wretched when she wakes and I was wondering if you had anything for a hangover," Art asked, but it clearly cost him.

Hermione stood and went to her potions cabinet. "I might, it's been awhile…" She went through the top shelf where she kept the things she didn't want Art to come across when he was little. As she shifted bottles one of the memory bottles was moved forward.

"Those memories," Art asked. "Are they from when you were with Uncle Viktor?"

Hermione stopped her search. He really was itching for a fight. She decided not to rise to the bait and just answer honestly. "Some of them." She resumed sorting through bottles. She really needed to clean out this cabinet.

"What are they then?" His voice was hard.

Hermione put her fingers around the bottle of hangover potion just as he asked. She looked at the bottle in her hand and thought how to answer. She could tell him it was none of his business, but that's what he wanted her to do. He wanted to rail at her for protecting him and treating him like a child. He expected her to shield him, and that was her first instinct, but he was a man now, and making manly choices. Perhaps it was time for brutal honesty.

"The first is from during the war, a horrible night with Ron and Harry. The second is finding my parents murdered. The third is a horrible night in Amsterdam with Viktor. In the fourth, I was abducted by Death Eaters. The last is when I miscarried."

Art's mouth dropped open.

"I know you're not a child anymore, Arthur." She held out the bottle. "Here's the potion. Make sure Emma drinks all of it."

Art nodded dumbly. He left the room in stunned silence.

Hermione returned to her potions cabinet. She stared at the memory bottles for a moment before closing the doors.

A little while later, she heard Ron stirring, so she joined him in the kitchen for breakfast. Winky fixed a full breakfast of fried eggs and bacon, sausages, mushrooms, beans, toast and treacle. They had just sat down to eat when Art and Emma appeared. Art took his regular place at the table, but Emma hesitated a moment before sitting to his right and Hermione's left. There were three copies of _The Daily Prophet _sitting on the table, but no one picked up any of them.

Ron broke the awkward moment by handing a plate of eggs to Art. "Eggs, son?"

Art took the plate. "Thanks."

"Would you like coffee or tea, Emma?" Hermione asked.

"Tea, please," Emma said softly.

Winky brought her a cup. Everyone busied themselves piling food on to their plates.

Emma sipped her tea for a while before finally speaking"I'm really sorry about last night."

Hermione shook her head"Don't be. I've certainly had my share of drunken responses to rotten days."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

Art looked at them both as if they were aliens.

"The question is," Ron continued, "What are you going to do now in the sober light of morning?"

Emma shrugged "I don't know that I have much choice. I can't leave June where she's not wanted. My grandparents took me in when I had nowhere else to go. It's only right I should do the same for June."

"Have you thought about how you're going to do that?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Art answered.

Emma looked at Art. "I told you, we can't do that."

"Yes, we can," Art insisted.

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. "No."

"What?" Ron asked.

"Well, I think," Art said, "that we need to go back to school and continue with our lessons. We don't know when June will need to leave. It's possible we could both graduate before she does something magical in front of her father. With our N.E.W.T.s we have a shot at better jobs than without them, so I think we should go for them while we can."

"You should go back to school and finish your N.E.W.T. levels," Emma said. "I need to get a job and a flat. I can't just go back to Hogwarts and hope nothing happens before graduation. I need to get my life in order so that when something does happen, and we all know it will, probably sooner rather than later, I'm ready to take June."

"But you're lowering your income potential by not graduating," Art argued. "In the long run, it's better for June for you to finish your N.E.W.T.s."

Emma set down her teacup rather firmly. "And when I'm at school and she puts my father on the roof, and I have to go get her, where am I to take her? I can't wait until something happens and then try and get everything in order. I need to be proactive, Art."

"Have you thought about what jobs you'd like to do?" Ron asked.

"Dad!" Art shouted.

"Art," Ron said firmly. "Emma's got a point. Being proactive is the right approach." He turned back to Emma. "So do you have anything in mind?"

"Well," Emma said, staring down at her teacup. "Charms and potions are my best subjects. I was hoping maybe to get on with a shop for charmed objects. Ultimately, I'd like to make clocks like my grandfather used to make."

"Oh," Ron said. "He made charmed clocks?"

"Yes," Emma nodded. "Not just ones that tell time either. His clocks did all sorts of things. Actually, I'm pretty sure the one in your mum's kitchen is one of his."

"Ah," Ron said. "He made the family clocks. Excellent." He smiled at Emma. "Well, seeing as how I'm in the business of charmed objects myself, I think I might be able to help you out."

"Actually," Hermione added, "there might be a way for you to be proactive and finish your studies, at least until such time as June needs you."

"How do you mean?" Art asked.

"Well," Hermione said. "Your father and I have been talking about renting the flat over the Hogsmeade store again. It's been sitting empty for several months now."

"Yeah," Ron added, "and ever since Dan Walker left to take the job with Gringott's, I'm short one charmer, so --"

"Emma could work part time at the shop at night, finish her studies during the day and have a flat ready for June," Art finished.

"We thought that might work," Hermione said.

"That's brilliant!" Art practically shouted.

Emma burst into tears and fled from the room.

Art called after her, "Em, what's wrong?" He gave a questioning look of confusion to his parents and then ran after her.

"Well," Ron said to Hermione, "that went well."

Hermione smiled weakly.

Art found Emma upstairs in his bedroom. She was sitting on the floor next to the bed with her face in her hands. He sat next to her and stroked her hair.

"What is it, Em?"

She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "You're parents must think I'm completely mental."

He shrugged. "We've a family full of crazies, one more doesn't bother anyone."

Emma shook her head. "They're so nice to me. Nicer than my own parents. I don't know what to say. It's all so much to take in."

"Look," Art said. "Don't take this wrong, because my parent's are fond of you, but this is really about me."

She looked up at him.

"I'm the only child they have, yeah?"

She nodded.

"So it stands to reason that they want me to be happy, and I know they want me to finish my N.E.W.T. levels."

"So?"

"So, I'm pretty sure they sat up half the night thinking of ways to help you, so I wouldn't leave school to help you take care of June."

Emma shook her head. "I would never let you do that."

Art grinned at her. "It's cute that you think you could stop me."

Downstairs, Ron and Hermione were finishing breakfast.

Ron set down his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and looked at her. "So what are you up to today?"

Hermione continued reading her copy of the paper. "I think I need to go into Diagon Alley."

"Why's that?" Ron asked. "You were just there yesterday."

Hermione set down her paper. "I want to release Viktor from his bond as my secret-keeper."

Ron shrugged. "Why today?"

"Because according to the paper, Puddlemere United is starting an away series of games day after tomorrow, so it's either see him today or wait several weeks."

"Well, you've waited this long…" Ron said.

"I know, but I shouldn't have and now I feel this pressure to release him."

"Suit yourself," Ron said. "I have a meeting with Fred and George this afternoon. Remember I'm going to France tomorrow morning, but I'll be back before the New Year's party."

"How much before the party?" Hermione asked warily.

"Now, stop. I already talked to Harry, and he and Ginny are going to help you set things up, and Fred and George are taking care of converting the dining room into a ballroom. I'll get home as much before the party as I can."

Hermione frowned at him. "Why did you set up this trip for now?"

"I didn't. George did."

"But you agreed to go!" Hermione protested.

"Yes, luv, because this is an opportunity to open up the French market, of course I agreed to go."

"Do you really need the French market?" Hermione pouted. "We already have more money than we know what to do with."

Ron smiled at her. "It's not about the money, it's about the business. Companies that don't grow die. I want to leave a nice healthy company for Art."

Hermione sighed. "Well, alright then. But I still think you're just trying to get out of helping me with the party."

"Yes, Hermione, I schedule massive deals worth millions of galleons just to make your life less convenient."

"See," Hermione said, smiling. "I knew it."

"Actually, speaking of the party. Did you hear Neville's back from the Amazon?" He took a sip of his tea.

"I did, he's invited, which reminds me, I think we should invite Michelle to the party."

Ron spit his tea out over the table. "What? Are you mental?"

Hermione pulled her wand out and cast a cleaning spell on the table to remove the tea. She glowered at Ron. "No, I'm not mental. I thought she might hit it off with Neville. I mean, he's a brilliant botanist, she's a brilliant healer, he's very sweet, and she seems as if she could use a bit of sweetness in her life."

Ron considered it for a moment. He honestly couldn't see Michelle with Neville, but stranger things had happened. "Alright," he conceded, "but don't be surprised if she declines the invitation. I'm not exactly on the top of her friends list."

"So I noticed. Why is that? Viktor and I get along."

Ron scoffed at her. "Oh, please. You see Viktor at most once a year and talk to him for maybe five minutes."

"Sometimes I see him twice if he comes to your mum's for Harvest Festival," she said primly.

"So I'm to be impressed that you can be civil to your ex for all of ten minutes out of the year."

"It beats a shouting match."

"Michelle and I don't have shouting matches. She hates me and I accept that."

"Well," Hermione said, standing. "Hates you or not, she saved my life and I think we should invite her to the party."

"Suit yourself, luv," Ron said as she walked out of the kitchen, "but don't be surprised--"

"I know, I know," Hermione said, waving him off.

"Tell Viktor I said 'hullo'" Ron shouted at her departing form.


	28. An Unbinding Spell

Chapter 28: An Unbinding Spell

It was almost noon when Hermione reached the main offices of Puddlemere United. Viktor was head coach now and the last she'd heard Oliver Wood was assistant coach. She was regretting not sending an owl first as she walked into the lobby when she was stopped by a young man in a Puddlemere United shirt.

"Can I help you, miss?"

"I'm looking for Viktor Krum."

"Isn't everyone, luv," he grinned cheekily.

Hermione smiled politely. "We're old friends."

"Right. What else you got?"

Hermione frowned. She hadn't anticipated this. The last time she'd been to see Viktor at work she's sailed right past all this. Of course, that had been almost twenty years ago and she'd been his girlfriend at the time and everyone had known that then.

"Hermione?"

She turned to see Oliver Wood approaching. "Oliver! How are you?" They hugged.

"I'm good. How are you?" He asked as he pulled back.

"Good."

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Oliver asked. "We haven't seen you around here in ages."

"I just need to speak to Viktor for a moment. Obviously, I should have owled. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Oh, come on," Oliver said. "You don't need to owl first. Go on back. He's in his office. It's the biggest one right off the gym."

"Thank you," Hermione smiled and gave a pointed look to the kid behind the desk as she passed.

It only took a minute to locate his office. When she knocked on his door, she was greeted with a gruff "Come in!"

She opened the door tentatively and stuck her head in. "Viktor?"

Viktor looked up sharply from a pile of parchment. "Hermione?"

"Hullo."

Viktor stood, confusion written all over his face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Hermione shook her head, and shut the door behind her. "No, I'm sorry I should have owled first. It's just, well, I feel I've been remiss."

"Remiss? About what?"

"The bond."

Viktor stared at her. Then he laughed. "You feel remiss now? What's it been? Twenty years?"

Hermione winced. "Something like that."

Viktor sat back down. "Why now?"

"Well," Hermione said, "Ron told me he had to go and get you to answer some of the medical questions the healers asked. I feel terrible that they had to bother you about that."

Viktor frowned. "They would not have had to get me if you had just been honest with Ron."

Hermione took a deep breath. _Okay, I deserved that._ "I know, and I have been now, but that did raise the whole issue of the bond. I hardly need a secret keeper for a secret I'm no longer keeping."

Viktor looked at her a moment as if he was studying her for flaws. She was sure he saw plenty.

"Fine," he said finally. "Release me. It's about time."

"Come here," Hermione said.

Viktor moved to stand in front of her. He faced her and wrapped his right arm around her left one. They linked hands.

Hermione pulled out her wand and started the unbinding spell. It took five minutes just to say all of it and when she was finished a green light, like thick ropes, began to pull out of their arms. At first it was just a tugging sensation, then it started to burn. Finally, it hurt so badly, they both cried out and fell to their knees. Hermione wanted desperately to pull her arm away from Viktor, and from the look on his face, he felt the same way, but they were locked together until the bond was broken.

Hermione could feel herself starting to sweat. She hoped she didn't pass out. Viktor didn't seem to be faring much better.

_Maybe this was a mistake so soon after recovery,_ she thought. Just as she didn't think she could stand it any longer, the green ropes of light stopped coming out of their arms and dissipated into the air.

Viktor let go a stream of Bulgarian curses as his arm fell away from hers. There were Sickle sized splotches of blood on their arms where the magical ropes had pulled out.

Hermione's whole left arm felt like it was on fire and she could barely make a fist with that hand.

"Thanks for mentioning it was going to hurt like that," Viktor said, glaring at her.

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't know. I guess it was just in place for so long." She was still kneeling on the floor trying to catch her breath. She felt light-headed.

Viktor blew out a frustrated breath and helped her to feet. "Are you alright, you've gone very pale."

"I'm alright," Hermione said. "I should probably just eat something."

Viktor pushed aside some of the parchment on his desk and handed her an apple.

She took it gratefully. "Thank you."

He glowered at her. "Don't mention it. You look terribly thin. Aren't you eating?" He rubbed his right arm.

Hermione snorted. "Almost constantly, but it's taking forever to put the weight back on. None of my clothes fit. I look like some kind of war refugee." She finished the apple and stood to toss the core in the trash.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to release you," she said. "I swear it wasn't on purpose. It honestly slipped my mind."

Viktor frowned at her. "Things wouldn't slip your mind if you'd put your memories where they belong instead of leaving them in jars."

Hermione frowned back. She'd always hated his sanctimonious streak. "Right. Well, I should be going. Thanks for the apple."

"Hermione," Viktor called as she opened the door.

She looked at him.

"Take care of yourself."

She nodded. "Yeah, you too."

There were several men in Quidditch robes standing outside his office when she left. They nodded to her as she walked by.

Hermione smiled politely back at them.

She decided not to risk Apparating home when she was this tired. She stopped at a street vendor and bought a bag of roasted nuts to eat on the way to Ron's shop. She could take the Floo home from there.


	29. A Welcome Relief

Chapter 29: A Welcome Relief

When Hermione reached the shop, she realized she needed to check her arm before taking the Floo home. It was very sore and she was certain she was bleeding under her robes. At least they were navy blue so the blood wouldn't show. She nodded at Seamus Finnegan, the day manager.

"Hullo, Seamus."

"Hullo, Hermione. It's good to see you out and about? What can I do for you?"

Hermione smiled. "Sorry," she whispered. "I just need to use the loo before I take the Floo home."

Seamus smiled. "Say no more. It's there in the back, although I think Jack's using it at the moment."

Hermione could feel blood running down her arm inside her sleeve. "I'll just pop upstairs then."

Seamus nodded and went to help a costumer that was waving to him. Hermione made her way up the dusty, narrow stairs that led to the flat over the shop. She used her wand to unlock the door and pushed it open with some effort.

There was a definite scurrying when the door opened. The flat was filthy. _Damn it_, Hermione thought,_ this place has a Doxy infestation._ She sighed in frustration. It hadn't been uninhabited all that long, but it didn't take long for Doxies to move into empty magical places.

She walked to the loo, rolling up her sleeve as she went. Her arm was already bruising and two of the exit sites for the bond were bleeding. She turned the tap on and waited for the water to run clear before sticking her arm under the flow. The cool water felt good against her angry flesh. She could kick herself for not bringing healing balm with her. She could perform a simple healing charm, but she was already so tired she was afraid of overtaxing herself. She looked around the bathroom for something to wrap her arm with, but there was nothing, not even toilet paper.

"This is not my day," Hermione muttered. Just then she heard the front door scrapping the floor and the sound of laughter.

"Oi, Dad wasn't kidding when he said the place needed a good cleaning. This stinks worse than Mrs. Figg's place."

"Who?" Emma asked.

"Some old bird who left Uncle Harry her house. We had to go help clean it out when I was a 3rd year. It was full of rubbish."

"Well at least this place is empty," Emma said. "Oh, but it does smell."

Hermione sighed and tried to think how best to exit inconspicuously. She longed for Harry's old invisibility cloak. A Doxy, probably drawn by the smell of blood, ventured out on to the vanity. Hermione quietly cast Petrificus Totalus and knocked the creature off the counter with her wand. She could feel the drain of even that simple spell, which confirmed for her that she wouldn't be doing a healing charm.

"We do have the place to ourselves," she heard Art say. _Uh oh, I need to get out of here. _She cleared her throat loudly and exited the loo.

Art and Emma were kissing rather passionately when she opened the door. They popped apart at the sound of her clearing her throat again.

"Mum?" Art said, startled.

"Good afternoon, Arthur. Emma." She made her way toward the door.

"Mum, what are you doing here?" Art said.

Hermione smiled pleasantly at him. "Just using the loo before heading home."

Art looked at Emma then back at his mother. "What? Why are you holding your arm like that?"

Hermione looked down at her left arm, which she was holding close to her body with her right one. "It's just a bit sore, long morning."

Art walked toward her. "Sore from what?"

"Oh, this and that, don't worry about it. What are you two doing here?"

Art frowned. "Dad told us to clean out the flat."

"Well, I hope you brought lots of Doxycide because the little monsters are everywhere. Oh, and Doxy anti-venom, hope you brought that in case either of you get bitten."

Art looked at Emma who was going through the bag of cleaning supplies. "Yes, we've got both."

Then a single drop of blood fell from Hermione's sleeve on to the floor. It seemed to Hermione as if it fell in slow motion and that the tiny splash was audible.

"Mum!" Art shouted.

"Professor!" Emma said at the same time.

"Oh damn," Hermione muttered.

"Let me see your arm," Art insisted.

Hermione dutifully pulled up the sleeve of her robe. "It looks worse than it is," she assured them.

Emma gasped while Art let out a low whistle.

"What have you done?" he said.

"Just an unbinding spell, only it was rather an old bond, so it hurt a great deal more than I expected."

"And Dad let you do this?" Art asked incredulously.

"Art," Emma said quietly.

"He knew I was going to, yes," Hermione answered indignantly.

"And he agreed to it?" Art pressed.

"Well," Hermione cast about for a suitable answer. "It's possible he's wasn't aware of all the complexities of the spell. I don't think your father's ever been bound. Well, except for the wedding and that's rather different."

"Mum, you're only just out of hospital!"

"Art, please, I'm fine," Hermione stated, straightening her back as she said so.

"You're bleeding on the floor. If you're fine why didn't you cast a healing charm?"

"Art?" Emma said, louder this time.

Hermione frowned at him.

"You're tapped out aren't you?" Art accused.

"There was a Doxy in the bathroom!" Hermione said defensively.

"What does that have to do --" Art yelled.

"Art!" Emma shouted.

"What?" Art shouted back as he wheeled around to look at her.

Emma sighed. "Perhaps we should heal her arm first and then you can shout at her."

Hermione was starting to feel lightheaded again. "Actually, I think I need to get something to eat."

Art snorted. "Fine, I'll go across the street and get you something. Emma can fix your arm."

Hermione looked at him. She was startled and unprepared to let Emma do the charms.

Art seemed to know what she was thinking. "She's better at healing charms than I am."

"Well, at least let me give you some money for lunch," Hermione offered.

"I have money," Art grumbled and stormed out.

Emma was looking at Hermione's arm. "Hold your sleeve back, please," she said gently.

Hermione held her sleeve and Emma performed the same charm Ron had performed on her just a few days ago to remove bruising. Then she cast a charm for each exit wound.

When Emma was done. Hermione flexed her hand. "That's loads better, thank you."

Emma nodded.

"You're very talented. Have you ever considered becoming a healer? You have the grades for it."

Emma tucked her wand back into her robes. "But not the time. Healers take years of training. I can't do that. Even if I wasn't faced with taking June, I still have to support myself."

Hermione nodded. "Of course. Sorry."

Emma shrugged. "It's alright. At one time I wanted to be famous singer, but that's not going to happen either."

Hermione smiled, but she felt terrible. Emma was talented and bright and she could make a terrific healer if she just had some support. Part of Hermione was deeply compelled to try and make that happen for her, but a larger part told her not to get any more involved than she already was. After all, Emma was Art's girlfriend, but for how long? She was his third so far, and there might be a dozen more to come. It's not as if they were married or even engaged. And despite him asking Ron about how much engagement rings cost, she couldn't count on this relationship lasting, so she couldn't really offer more than she already had. Still, her heart broke for Emma.

Art came in then with a brown bag in one hand and three butterbeers in the other. "I got Cornish pasties for everyone," Art said and sat on the floor. Hermione and Emma joined him and they all began eating.

"So, to whom were you bonded, if it wasn't Dad?" Art asked suddenly.

Hermione chewed her pasty slowly.

"It was Uncle Viktor wasn't it?" Art said. There was accusation in his tone.

Hermione swallowed and took a sip of butterbeer.

"Well," Art said pointedly.

Hermione frowned. "He was my secret keeper for many years, too many. I rectified that situation today."

"Secret keeper? For what secret?" Art wanted to know, but Hermione was rather tired of being pushed.

She glanced at Emma and got to her feet. "I rather don't think that's any of your business, Arthur. Thanks for lunch."

Hermione left him gaping behind her, but found she didn't mind that at all. It was a welcome relief to take the Floo home.


	30. Preparations

Chapter 30: Preparations

When Hermione arrived home, Fred and George were in the kitchen eating lunch. Winky was beaming, no doubt due to their hearty appetites.

"Hullo, Hermione," George said.

Fred nodded and continued chewing his ham sandwich.

"Oh," Hermione exhaled. "What are you two doing here?"

"There was a problem with the French client," Fred said.

George sighed. "Ron got an owl this morning. He's gone early to sort things out. I'm to follow later this evening."

"Oh," Hermione said disappointed. "I hate that I didn't get to see him off."

George nodded. "He wasn't very happy about that either, but he didn't want the deal to fall through, so he asked if we could come early and take care of the dining room."

"Well, I'm sorry I wasn't here to help," Hermione said, still somewhat out of sorts over Ron's abrupt departure.

"Not a problem," George smiled. "Winky let us in, and we've already finished. Go have a look and see if it suits you."

Hermione was surprised. "You're already finished? That was fast."

"Not really," Fred said. "We've been here since ten this morning."

"I am so sorry," Hermione repeated.

George shook his head. "Go look then."

Hermione walked out of the kitchen and into the dining room, which was now ten times it's normal size. The twins had done a terrific job of expanding it for the New Year's party.

"It's perfect!" Hermione shouted over her shoulder.

George walked up behind her carrying his sandwich. "The ceiling's alright, not too gaudy?"

"No," Hermione exclaimed. "It's lovely. Where did you get all the fairies?"

"That was Fred's doing." George said.

Hermione marveled at the hundreds of little fairies resting in greenery hung from the ceiling.

"It wasn't that hard," Fred said, joining them in what now looked like a ballroom. "They were all too happy to sit around indoors. It's cold outside. I did promise them a big bowl of sugar water for every day they're here."

"I think we can manage that," Hermione said. She hugged them both. "You're the best," she said. "I don't know how I would have managed this without you."

"We're the best now, George," Fred said, winking at his twin. "Remember when she used to say we were beastly."

"Oh, that was only because we picked on little Ronnikins."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "You did used to be beastly to him."

"Of course," Fred and George said simultaneously.

"Until he got bigger," Fred said.

"And meaner," George said.

"And more magically proficient," they both added and laughed.

Fred looked at his watch, which had a hand pointing to your-wife-is-starting-to-get-angry. "Oh," he said, "I'm late. I've got to go." He pulled out his wand and kissed Hermione on the cheek. "We'll see you tomorrow night." He Apparated away with a pop.

George smiled at Hermione. "I'm glad you like the room. It's a three day spell, so there's plenty of time before and after." He kissed her cheek as well and disappeared with a pop.

Hermione walked back into the kitchen to get a glass of pumpkin juice, but when she opened the icebox, she found it had been transformed into a walk-in cooler. There were meats hanging from hooks and racks and racks of party platters in various states of preparation.

"Winky?" Hermione called.

"Yes, Miss?" Winky said stepping out from behind a beef quarter.

"I just wanted some pumpkin juice," Hermione said, still awed by all the changes in the icebox.

Winky snapped her fingers and handed Hermione a glass of juice.

"Thanks, do you need any help."

Winky looked stricken. "No, Miss. Is you unhappy with Winky's work? Winky is well on her way to being done, Miss."

"No, no," Hermione exclaimed, suddenly realizing she'd insulted the little elf. "You're doing a marvelous job, it's just so much work for one elf to do."

Winky wiped her hands on her tea towel and looked around her with a wrinkled brow. "It's the same amount of work as every year, Miss."

Hermione looked down at her. "Yes, well I suppose that's true." She felt terrible. She had always been working on her own projects this time of year, so it had never really occurred to her how much trouble this massive New Year's party was for Winky. Hermione cleared her throat. "Well, carry on. You're doing a marvelous job."

Winky beamed.

Hermione walked back to her office, anxious to get out of the way and get something productive done. She sent an owl to the Department of Mysteries to fetch her correspondence and then spent the rest of the afternoon going through it, answering some of it and filing or tossing the rest. As she was doing her work, owls were steadily coming and going with responses to the party invitations. Hermione looked at the count she'd been keeping. All in all, it looked like they'd have about three hundred guests.

Art stuck his head into her study in the late afternoon. "Hullo, Mum, we're back."

"How did the cleaning go?"

Art frowned. "Let's just say we're out of Doxycide and anti-venom."

Hermione grimaced. "Oh, that's too bad, better have Winky put them on the market list. You know you never get them all with just one application."

"Gross," Art said. "Em's gone up to take a shower."

"You should as well, dear. A cleaning charm just doesn't do Doxy filth justice."

"Yeah," Art said, closing the pocket doors to her study behind him. "I know, but I wanted to talk to you for a minute."

Alarms went off in Hermione's head. She hoped he wasn't itching for a fight about Viktor being her secret keeper. She just didn't feel up to a row.

"It's about tomorrow night."

Hermione set her quill down.

"You see," Art continued, "I wasn't expecting Emma to be here, so--"

"Tell me you didn't ask someone else to the party, Arthur."

Art's mouth dropped open. "No, Mum! What sort of prat do you take me for?"

Hermione held up her hands, "I'm sorry, it's just the way you said it, I thought--"

"No!" Art repeated indignantly. "I'm just trying to tell you Emma doesn't have anything to wear to a fancy dress ball."

"Oh," Hermione chuckled. "Well, I'm sure McGonagall will let her go back to school to pick up her dress robes."

"No, Mum. It's not that she doesn't have any here, it's that she doesn't have any."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Well, that's no good. I could loan her one of mine, although that would take a great deal of alteration and my sewing spells are a bit dodgy. They always seem to come out crooked. You know people say home spells are the easiest, but when you grow up in a Muggle household, I think they're a lot harder. I mean most people just seem to absorb that kind of magic, but I don't know a single Muggleborn that's any good at them."

"I don't know," Art said. "Emma knits."

"Yes," Hermione replied absently, "that was the only one I was ever able to master. Alright then, I'll send an owl to Padma, she might be able to do a rush job. Actually, now that I think of it, I bought my robes for the ball before the accident, I'm going to need to have them taken in." She pulled a piece of blank parchment toward her and began scribbling furiously. "Tell Emma to come down here after her shower, we should go this afternoon." She signaled for one of the owls lined up on her windowsill. As she was tying the parchment to the owl's leg she looked up to see Art still standing there. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Was there something else?"

"Well, Emma can't really afford…"

Hermione smiled. "Not to worry, I'll cover the cost."

Art came around the desk and kissed her cheek. "You're the best, Mum."

She pulled back from him and eyed him warily. "Do try and remember that the next time you're tempted to row with me."

He feigned a hurt expression. "I would never row with you, Mum."

She waved him away. "Get out, you're dripping sarcasm all over my desk."

He grinned cheekily and headed upstairs.

Hermione shook her head. Just like his father, she was loath to deny him anything.


	31. Dress Robes

Chapter 31: Dress Robes

Going to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occassions was the first time Hermione had Apparated since the accident. She found herself in front of the dress shop a little dizzy. Emma lent a steadying hand for the moment it took Hermione to collect herself.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Sorry about that," she said to Emma who looked concerned. "I'm alright now."

The two entered Madam Malkin's to warm greetings from Padma Patil, who had co-owned the shop with her sister for several years now, but they had never changed the name.

"I heard you were in hospital," Padma said as she hugged Hermione. "Is everything alright? You look pale."

Hermione smiled weakly. "Oh, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about."

"And who is this?" Padma asked, looking at Emma.

"This is Emma Silsbury, Head Girl at Hogwarts and Art's girlfriend," Hermione said smiling. She knew Padma would love those personal details and all thoughts of hospital would fly out of her head. She wasn't disappointed.

"Oh," Padma sighed dramatically taking Emma's hands, "Art's a love, isn't he?"

"I think so," Emma said, blushing.

"Ah, young love," Padma said pressing a hand over her heart. "Isn't it grand?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and winked at Emma.

"So what can I do for you ladies this afternoon. Your owl sounded uncharacteristically urgent, Hermione. Could it be you have a fashion emergency?"

Hermione couldn't help laughing. "I suppose I do. What we need is new dress robes for Emma and I need mine altered, although if that's too much trouble, I can just get new ones."

"You don't like the neckline, do you?" Padma said firmly pursing her lips. "I told you it was too high. They're lower this year."

"It's not the neckline, Padma. I've just lost a bit of weight and I need them taken in some."

"Oh," Padma cooed. "Slimmed down for the party, did we? Better watch out, Hermione, people might think you're vain."

Hermione gave a half-hearted laugh. "Something like that, but why don't we get Emma squared away first."

"Alright then," Padma said, immediately switching gears. "What sort of robes are you interested in, dear?"

Emma looked startled as though she hadn't expected such a question. "I'm not sure, whatever's appropriate, I guess. And not too expensive."

Behind Emma's back Hermione mouthed don't-worry-about-the-money and Padma nodded at her.

"Let's get your measurements and then you can stand in the dressing room and I'll send in the robes I think will work for you. How about that?"

"Alright," Emma said uncertainly.

A few minutes later, Emma was standing on a raised platform in her bra and knickers looking distinctly uncomfortable while Padma sent gown after gown floating into the room. The gowns arranged themselves around Emma in a semi-circle. Hermione couldn't help noticing a small bruise, which looked very much like a love bite, on her hip. Now that she'd seen that one she noticed another just above Emma's left breast. Hermione averted her eyes and took great interest in the carpet pattern. She knew Artie wasn't a little boy anymore, but it wasn't easy to be confronted with the fact that he was bedding the tall willowy blonde in front of her, either. At least, in addition to being a beautiful girl, Emma seemed to be very sweet and Hermione knew she was an exceptionally bright student. It pained her to think of Emma having to set aside her own goals and aspirations to raise her younger sister, but she couldn't help but admire the young woman's willingness to do so.

"Well then," Padma said, clapping her hands. "Let's begin."

Emma spent the next half hour trying on dress robes. Finally, she pulled on a set of icy blue robes that so perfectly set off her eyes that all three women agreed there was no point in trying on anything else. She was stunning.

"How much, though?" Emma asked quietly as she fingered the heavy silk of the gown.

Padma looked at Hermione.

"They're yours," Hermione said.

Emma turned to her. "No, Professor, I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't," Hermione said firmly. "I offered. They're a gift. It's impolite to refuse a gift."

Emma's mouth dropped open as if to argue, then she bit her lip. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"You're most welcome," Hermione said warmly. Emma looked as if she might cry.

Padma came to the rescue. "Alright then, Hermione, no more putting it off, your turn. Up you go. Step down now, Emma."

"Um…" Hermione was suddenly uncomfortable.

But Padma was already helping Emma off with her robes. "Do you need help getting into yours?" she asked Hermione.

"No," Hermione said, pulling a small package from the front of her cloak. She waved her wand over it and the package grew to be a full sized garment bag.

Padma had hung Emma's robes on a rack and Emma was getting dressed.

Hermione took a deep breath and stood. She pulled off her cloak and began to unbutton her robes. She'd been wearing traditional wizarding robes ever since her accident because they revealed very little about the person under them. She kept her back to Emma and Padma as she changed. She could hear one of them gasp behind her, but she pretended not to notice.

When she'd pulled the dress robes up over her shoulders, she turned around.

Padma's mouth was open in shock. "A bit of weight?" she exclaimed. "You've lost two sizes at least. Are those scars bigger?"

Hermione smiled. "Can't get anything by your dressmaker," she said to Emma, who looked a bit alarmed.

"Does Ron know how much weight you've lost?" Padma demanded.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He shares my bed; I can't get anything by him either."

"What happened to you?" Padma said, her voice quieter now.

"Nothing," Hermione said, shaking her head. "It was just an accident. Now can you fix these robes, or do I need to buy new ones? Because I've got three hundred people coming to my house tomorrow and I can't go dressed in a feed sack."

Padma blew out an exasperated breath. "Well, I can fix those, of course, but you might just want to get new ones. I mean, they were so lovely on you and you are planning on getting back to your normal size, right?"

Hermione pushed her hair back. "I certainly hope so, although at the rate Winky is feeding me, I'm likely to be several sizes larger."

Padma snapped her fingers. "Let's not cut these down. I've got just the thing." She disappeared behind a curtain for a moment and then came back carrying velvet robes in a rich cherry chocolate color. The color shifted from dark brown to deep red depending on the angle they were held. "Try these on," she said, holding out the robes.

Hermione pulled them on, noting how heavy they were. She had to admit as she turned toward the mirror, they looked fantastic. The weight and richness of the fabric made her look fashionably thin instead of emaciated. Actually, they also appeared to make her breasts look their normal size as well. "Padma," Hermione said, "these robes are charmed."

"Parvati did them herself. Fantastic aren't they?"

"Yes, but if they're charmed they must be a custom job. Whose robes are these?"

"Oh, she refused pick up, the fat cow. She sent her measurements by owl and they weren't even remotely right, then she tried to blame Parvati for botching the charm. A right bitch that one was, anyway, they've been sitting in the back since November, but they look just smashing on you." She turned to Emma. "Don't you think so?"

Emma agreed wholeheartedly.

Hermione looked at the robes and chuckled. "Fine, I'll take them."


	32. Strict Instructions

Chapter 32: Strict Instructions

When Hermione and Emma returned home, Winky was in a terrible state.

"Miss was not home at three o'clock. Miss missed her afternoon tea." The little elf wrung her hands.

Hermione looked at her in alarm. "Winky, stop. I'm sorry I missed tea, but it's not as if I asked you to have it ready. I'd have thought you'd appreciate the break what with all the work you're doing for the party tomorrow."

"No," Winky wailed. "Mr. Weezy left strict instructions. Miss is to have breakfast at six, tea and scone at nine, lunch at noon, tea at three, supper at six, and dinner at nine, and if Miss is still awake at midnight, she is to have warm milk and cookies. Mr. Weezy will be angry that his schedule was not followed."

"Let me get this straight," Hermione frowned, exasperated. "Ron put me on a three hour feeding schedule. She turned to Emma. "What am I? An infant? I'm going to kill him."

"Mr. Weezy will be very angry with his Winky--" the house elf continued.

"No, I'm sure he won't be," Hermione told her firmly. "If he's angry at anyone, it'll be me, but I assure you it will be nothing compared to how I feel right now."

Winky shrank back, her eyes wide. "Is Miss angry at Winky?"

"No, of course not," Hermione scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You've done a marvelous job. It's not your fault Ron's obsessed with food. Although, now that you mention it, would it be too much trouble to have a spot of tea and perhaps some sandwiches?"

"Right away, Miss," Winky said and scurried back to the kitchen.

"You shouldn't scare her like that," Art said from the stairwell.

"I didn't scare her," Hermione said, affronted.

"You terrify her," Art said as he helped Emma off with her cloak.

"That's absurd!" Hermione said, taking off her own cloak.

Art took it from her and hung it on the hall rack next to Emma's. "You always have, Mum. House elves are very sensitive to magic. You're very powerful and Winky knows that."

"Don't be ridiculous. Your father's very powerful too."

"Yes, but he likes Winky. You're the one who never let her bond to the family. She's always afraid you'll boot her out at any moment."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "I never let her bond to the family because that's a barbaric practice of slavery and I won't be a party to it! I would never boot out Winky. As far as I'm concerned she's part of the family. I'd no sooner boot out her than I would you."

"Where would you be liking your tea, Miss?" Winky asked from the door to the kitchen. She was laden down with an enormous tray with a tea service and a pile of sandwiches on it. There were tears in her large eyes.

"In the parlor, Winky," Hermione said, sighing. She glared at Art, who just shrugged at her.

Winky let go of the tray and it sailed into the parlor. She returned to the kitchen.

As they followed the tray into the parlor, Hermione waved her hand over the lamps and they lit instantly. She picked up a sandwich. "I'm going to go change into my dressing gown. I'm knackered," she announced. As she walked past the fireplace she waved a hand toward it and the flames roared to life.

Art flicked his wand at the woodbin on the hearth and two logs settled themselves on the grate.

"Can you do that?" Emma asked thoughtfully.

"What?" Art asked, reaching for a sandwich.

"Light a lamp or start a fire without your wand?"

Art frowned. "No, not yet, although Mum says she couldn't do it at my age either, although I doubt that. I mean she could produce a wandless shield charm at my age - well, she might have been 18 maybe 19, but I know she couldn't have been any older than that."

"Can you do a wandless shield charm?"

Art shook his head. "No. I can do a silent one, but not wandless."

Emma took a bite out of her sandwich.

"Why do you ask?" Art said.

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I know in school everyone whispered about her, how powerful she was and the things she did in the war, but I guess I didn't really think about it too much. She was just Professor Weasley, the history professor, but your mum effortlessly does magic that a lot of wizards can't do at all. It's not like she's a big show off or anything, but after seeing her today--"

Art sat up straighter. "What happened today?"

"Nothing, just in the changing room, well...she's quite thin and badly scarred. I guess I never thought about who she really is until today."

Art set down his sandwich. He looked at Emma darkly. "She's my mum."

"But she's so much more than that, and I'm just saying that until today, I didn't really see it."

Art suddenly stood, anger clearly etched in his features. "In this house, she's my mum, and we don't talk about the rest of it."

Emma's mouth dropped open in shock as she watched him storm from the room.

A few minutes later, Hermione came back into the parlor to find Emma sitting alone staring at the fire.

"Where's Art?" Hermione asked.

Emma looked up at her. "I'm not sure. I've made him angry somehow."

"What happened?"

Emma shook her head. "I don't...nothing. I should just go apologize."

Hermione watched her leave before settling in front of the fire and taking another sandwich.

It took Emma a while to locate Art in the house. She walked all four upper stories before venturing to the downstairs library. She found Art sitting at a large table hunched over an enormous old tome.

"What have you got there?" she asked as she came into the room.

"It's the definitive work on human transformation."

"I didn't know you were studying to be an Animagus."

Art looked up at her. "I was just reading; that's all."

Emma sat at the table across from him. "Just reading? So you have no interest in whether or not you can do the spell?"

Art frowned at her.

"What's going on, Art?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"Can you at least tell me what happened upstairs? I didn't mean to upset you."

He shook his head. "You didn't upset me."

She raised an eyebrow and glared at him.

"Maybe a little," he consented. "It's just, in some ways, Mum is a taboo subject around here."

"I don't understand," Emma said. "It's not like your parents are divorced or anything. Actually, they seem really happy together. They're loads nicer to each other than my parents are."

"It's not that, it's just, there are all these things no one talks about - it's not just my folks either, it's any of the adults in the family. When we're all together it's as if life started when Clive was born."

"Well," Emma said, "maybe they just don't like to talk about the past."

"That's a huge understatement." Art scowled. "Uncle Harry, Mum and Dad defeated Voldemort, and none of us know anything about it beyond what we've learned in school. As a matter of fact, I think other kids in school know a lot more about it than we do. You mentioned people whispering about Mum, well no one ever whispered to me. And I have all these tidbits."

"Like what?" Emma asked.

"Like little clues to the past." He shook his head.

"Go on," Emma encouraged him.

"Alright," Art said turning to her. "Something happened their second year, something bad, really bad. Gran said Mum was petrified a good part of that year. Petrified! And it had something to do with Aunt Ginny because when Dad brought up how it was like second year when we were at hospital, Aunt Ginny walked away. I think she might have been crying and Uncle Harry went straight after her. Now what do you suppose that's all about?"

"Perhaps they had a row second year, and your Aunt Ginny hexed your Mum."

"No!" Art practically shouted. "Didn't you hear what I said? Mum was petrified a good part of the year! That's no mere hex, besides Aunt Ginny was a first year, do you really think she could have pulled off something like that?"

Emma leaned back in her chair. "That does seem unlikely."

"And then there's Uncle Viktor," Art said darkly.

"What?"

"He was called to the hospital to answer a question about a scar Mum has. One that Dad didn't know how she got. Only Uncle Viktor knew and then when he told the healer, he did it in private."

Emma's mouth dropped open and she let out a quiet "Oh. I mean, I'd heard rumors, but I thought they were just gossip, well until she said he was her secret keeper, then I thought…so they were together?"

"After the war," Art said grimly. "For three years or so. No one talks about it."

Emma didn't say anything.

"I didn't find out until third year when I was helping clean out the house of that old Squib who left her house to Uncle Harry. I came across all these magazines. It was terrible."

"What sort of magazines?" Emma asked.

"**Witch Weekly** mostly. Mum and Uncle Viktor made regular appearances on the cover. They said some really nasty things about Mum in the articles."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah, it was. Caused a bit of stir in the family."

Emma raised her eyebrows.

Art chuckled but without mirth. "Yeah, as it turns out Uncle Viktor hadn't mentioned it to his girls, and Clive and Devin didn't know either, actually none of my cousins knew, well, except Uncle Bill's kids and some of Uncle Fred's, some of them were old enough to remember when Mum and Dad got back together. Naturally, they didn't share this information with us younger ones." He scowled.

Emma put her hand over his. "Does it really matter?"

Art shrugged. "Yes and no. I'd really like to know what secret was so important she bound him to keep it."

Emma sighed. "I don't know, Art, but people don't bond secret keeper's lightly. Maybe you should just leave it. It all happened a long time ago."

Art shook his head. "I don't know what it is about her."

"What do you mean?"

"Dad is so straightforward, you know? You always know where Dad stands on something. If he's angry, you know he's angry. If he's happy, you know it. With Mum," he sighed. "She's difficult to read. I hardly ever know how she really feels about anything. And she's always been so secretive."

Emma smirked. "Art, she worked where you went to school. How secretive is that?"

"Well, not when she was Hogwarts, but in the summer, sometimes she would be gone for weeks at a time. All I was ever told was that she was working on a project. I mean I know she works for the Ministry some, but I'd love to know what some of those projects were."

"Why don't you ask her?"

Art shook his head. "That's just it, she doesn't make it easy to do that. I mean, at the time, she'd often come home kind of wrecked. Exhausted and drained. She'd spend what seemed like days sitting in the parlor sipping whiskey and staring at the fire."

"She stared at the fire in the summer?"

"Heatless fire. It's one of her best charms. She's been doing them for ages according to Dad. Mum says she thinks best in front of a fire."

"So why didn't you go in and ask her where she'd been?" Emma asked.

Art shrugged. "It's kind of hard to explain. I mean no one told me I couldn't exactly, it's just…I couldn't. Sometimes, especially when I was younger, I wasn't even here when she got home. Sometimes I would go and stay with Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry. It was always billed as fun time with my cousins and it was, but then I'd find out Mum had come home while I was away and when I would come back, she was fine and it was like nothing had happened. That's weird isn't it?"

"That is weird," Emma admitted. "But maybe you're making too much of this. I mean, she's on the Wizengamot, right?"

"Sure," Art said.

"So maybe she was away for proceedings."

Art rolled his eyes. "Wizengamot proceedings are in the paper, Emma."

"I bet they aren't all in the paper. I bet there are trials and hearings that don't make the paper."

He looked at her. "You think?"

"It stands to reason that some proceedings might have to be held in secret."

"But for weeks?" Art said.

Emma shrugged. "And she's Order of Merlin, right?"

Art nodded. "Yeah."

"I bet there are proceeding that go along with that."

"No, it's just an award for getting along with Muggles or helping them out," Art said. "Dad and Uncle Harry are Order of Merlin too."

"Oh," Emma said.

Art just looked at her. "And what about those memories she has bottled in her office. What are those about? They certainly don't have anything to do with the Wizengamot or the Order of Merlin."

Emma shrugged. "You've got a point there."


	33. Profoundly Disturbing

Chapter 33: Profoundly Disturbing

The morning of the party Hermione was up early and having breakfast by herself. In spite of all the last minute preparations she had to do, Winky still made Hermione eggs and toast and a big cup of cream tea for breakfast. Feeling in the way, Hermione took her food with her to her study.

She had surprisingly little to do for the party. Harry and Ginny along with Clive and Devin would be coming later in the morning to help with the last minute magical details, and at the moment, there wasn't much for Hermione to do. Time was she would have managed all of the decorations and transformations on her own, but she still had a propensity to over tap herself into exhaustion, which wouldn't do for the party at all, so she did the responsible thing and puttered around in her study instead.

She read her correspondence as she polished off her eggs. There was a letter from a colleague asking if she had any aconite. Hermione pushed her plate aside and went to her potions cabinet. She found the right vial, but it was empty. She sighed and her eye caught the five little vials of silvery liquid. On impulse Hermione took them out and set them on her desk. She wrote a quick note explaining that she was out of wolfsbane and sent it off with one of her owls.

She tossed the papers on her desk and sat down. She contemplated the vials in front of her. She knew Viktor was right. She should put her memories back where they belonged. After all, what if something was to happen to her? She'd very nearly died in that explosion at the Ministry. What if Ron, or worse, Art, had found these memories and looked at them? Sure she'd offered for Ron to look at them, but she hadn't really expected him to. Art, on the other hand, she was sure would look at them if he was given the opportunity. She sighed. She certainly didn't want that, but the longer they stayed out of her head, the more danger there was that someone would see them. _Fine_, she thought, _I'll start putting them back in._ She considered in what order to restore them. Chronological was the obvious choice, but she discarded that almost immediately. She decided to start with the least painful of the memories. She sighed again and looked at the bottles. She took out her wand and opened the bottle with the memories from that night with Ron and Harry during the war. She looked at it and realized that she'd lied to Art about this memory. It wasn't a horrible night, she'd had many more horrible nights than this, but this night had been profoundly disturbing. Taking a deep breath, she touched her wand to the silvery substance until it clung to the tip. Gritting her teeth, she touched her wand to her temple and the memory sank back into place.

The memory rushed in and flooded her mind like a new experience. She gulped for air.

When they first started taking camping trips on weekends from Hogwarts to search for the Horcruxes, they took a magical tent. She and Ron had their own room and life continued on as normal. Then Death Eaters attacked them one night and that was the end of the magical tent. It was too easy to find with a simple locator spell, so from then on they used a small three-person Muggle tent. Hermione thought that saying the tent slept three was being very generous. They were crammed in pretty tight with all their gear. She banged her foot on a cauldron more than once getting up in the night.

Ron and Harry put her in the middle. They said it was to keep her safe, but she knew they just didn't want to sleep next to each other. It was fine in the colder months because she slept warm in her sleeping bag between them, but in warmer weather, it got a little awkward. No one slept in bags when it was warm, so there were occasional incidents of Harry's hand in the wrong place in the morning. No one said anything though and the search continued. They had to stay focused. Hermione grew used to sleeping in Ron's arms, while Harry slept hard tucked behind her. If Ron noticed or minded, he never said. Hermione ignored the occasional erotic dream featuring both of them and kept to the task at hand.

She spent years trying to figure out the exact spell the Death Eater had hexed them with. It was a last bit of dark mischief cast wide at them by a dying man. Of course, they noticed when the weak pink light hit them as they stumbled through a stream hurrying to get away before more Death Eaters arrived, but at the time they were just happy it hadn't hurt them, figured it must have been too weak to do whatever it had been intended to do, and hurried back to their Portkey and back to their tent.

Hermione was never really sure who went first or if it really was a simultaneous action, but she had never felt so hot, so overwhelmed with desire, so wanton in her wishes. Two sets of hands roaming her body, while two mouths attended her breasts, put her awash in sensation like she'd never experienced before. Perhaps it was the spell, perhaps it was the years of working so closely, so in tandem, that there was no awkwardness in their movements. Ron, of course, knew her body so he lead, Harry followed effortlessly. It surprised her then that Harry was inside her first, while Ron held her, caressed her, kissed her and waited his turn.

Harry was smaller than Ron, so his entrance was effortless for her. Ron always took a moment of getting used to. When Harry spilled inside her with a low moan, he rolled off and Ron slid into place. They changed places with such ease one would have thought they did this every night, but Harry didn't resume Ron's caresses. Instead, he went after her with his mouth as Ron slid in and out of her with the practiced ease of a man who knows his partner. Hermione, on very rare occasions, would think about this, even years later, and she would wonder why Harry didn't just roll to the side and watch. She was certain that orgasm ended the spell, so that his desire to bring her off with his mouth while Ron penetrated her, to be there at the point where their bodies joined, to participate in that, to taste the three of them together, was Harry's own personal desire. Naturally, she never mentioned this to Harry or Ron.

Actually, the three of them never spoke of it. Even Ron's catastrophic interview with Rita Skeeter never broached the subject. He spoke only of the long nights together searching for the Horcruxes and Rita unwittingly guessed a kernel of truth. Instead, they woke the next morning in their same old position, although that particular morning naked and a trifle sticky. Cleaning charms were cast, looks were exchanged, and a silent pact was made. What happened stayed between the three of them. The search continued.

She felt a flush rise up from her chest and then a wave of nausea. She braced herself against her desk. After a moment, the feeling passed, and she was left only with a deep and abiding sense of guilt. Even though she knew that a hex was responsible for their behavior, she still felt guilty about betraying Ginny and to a lesser extent Ron. Being made love to by two men, Hermione blushed at the memory of that feeling, had been incredible. She did love them both. Although she had no desire for a relationship with Harry, there was no point in lying to herself about that night. She'd liked it, which is why she'd removed the memory in the first place. It was easier to live without that sort of memory seeping into her dreams at night, but it was no longer worth the risk to keep it bottled, so now she was back to living with it and the subsequent guilt.

She looked at the remaining bottles on her desk. "Alright," she said to the empty room. "That's enough of that for today."

She shook her head to clear it and then pulled a blank piece of parchment toward her and quickly scribbled a note to her apothecary about getting more wolfsbane. She waved at one of the owls that were perpetually perched in her study and sent it off with the letter. While she was thinking about potions, she pulled out some notes she had for a book she was writing on healing balms. She'd done extensive interviews with several leading healers and it occurred to her to ask Michelle if she might consider contributing her own thoughts. She pulled another blank piece of parchment toward her and fired off another letter to Michelle explaining the project and asking for her input. In closing she said she hoped to see Michelle at the party.

Considering that she was going to embark on some serious potion work for the book in the next few weeks, she thought it was a good idea to go through her potions cabinet and inventory her supplies. After all, if she'd managed to run out of wolfsbane, what else might she be missing? Well, virgin's blood for one. That was going to be expensive.

About a half an hour into her inventory, Art stuck his head into her office.

"Oi, Mum, you need anything done for the party?"

Hermione set down the bottle of hellebore she was checking the date on. "Actually, yes. But I suspect you'll need Emma's help, and Clive and Devin's too as soon as they get here."

Art followed her to the converted dinning room where Winky had set up a table with what looked like hundreds of paper cups.

"Where's the crystal?" Art asked.

Hermione smiled. "You're looking at it. I need these all transfigured into crystal wine goblets. Think you can handle it?"

Art looked at all the little paper cups. "Sure," he said without much conviction.

As Hermione walked back to her study she could hear Art shouting, "Emma!"

She went back to the potions cabinet and resumed her inventory. A little while later she heard one of the pocket doors slide back.

"Now, Art you can't possibly be done --" Hermione said as she closed the cabinet door to talk to him.

She was surprised to see Gabrielle Krum standing there with her wand drawn.

"You bitch!" Gabrielle said and raised her wand.


	34. Pools of Memory

Chapter 34: Pools of Memory

Without thinking Hermione cast a wandless shield charm and the hex Gabrielle flung at her bounced off the shield and hit her desk, splitting it in two.

"Gabrielle!" Hermione shouted as she pulled her own wand and disarmed the French woman. "What's the matter with you?"

Gabrielle dove for her wand and Hermione cast Incarceratus and thick ropes bound Gabrielle's arms to her side and prevented her from reaching her wand. She fell over, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

Hermione could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs.

Harry was the first in followed by Art, Ginny, Emma, Clive and Devin. "What the hell is going on?" Harry shouted. He took in the scene before him and turned to Hermione. "Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded. "Just a bit shaken, she tried to hex me."

Harry turned to Gabrielle on the floor. "You tried to hex her? Are you mental? She's only just out of hospital! You could have seriously hurt her."

"Harry," Ginny said, putting a calming hand on her husband's wand arm.

"She is sleeping with my husband!" Gabrielle shouted from the floor, her face red with fury.

Hermione's jaw dropped. "What? I most certainly am not! That's preposterous! Where would you get such an idea?"

Ginny and Harry looked at each other and Hermione noticed that all the kids seemed suddenly uncomfortable.

"What?" she asked.

"I take it you haven't read **The Prophet** this morning," Harry said.

"I glanced at the front page," Hermione responded. "What?"

"There was something in the gossip column about you and Viktor."

Hermione held her hand out and one of the newspapers flew into it from the wreckage of her desk. She opened it to the gossip column and gasped.

"Mum?" Art said.

"Go downstairs," Hermione said. "Take Emma and your cousins with you. Finish making the wine goblets."

"But," Art started.

Hermione gave him a hard look and he backed down.

"Come on," he said to the others and they all tramped back downstairs.

Hermione walked over to Gabrielle and looked down at her. "This isn't true. I don't know why you would believe such rubbish."

"Because I checked." Gabrielle hissed. "I know you went to his office. I know you were in there alone and that there were cries of passion coming from the room."

Hermione looked at Harry and Ginny. They both looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"I did go to his office," Hermione said. "But those weren't cries of passion, they were cries of pain."

"Why?" Gabrielle cried. "What did you do to him?"

Hermione sighed and ran a hand down her face. "I released him from a bond that I should have released him from years ago."

"What bond?" Gabrielle shouted. "He never told me of any bond!"

"No, he wouldn't have. Secret keepers can't disclose that they're bonded."

"What secret?" Gabrielle wanted to know.

"It's about the scar on your shoulder isn't it?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Then why could he tell the healer?" Ginny asked.

"Because I structured the bond so that he could talk to healers at the time. I never considered that he would still be able to do so twenty years later. I wasn't thinking that far in advance when I made the bond."

"Why would Viktor consent to such a thing?" Gabrielle asked, calmer now. "He hates binding spells."

"Sure he does," Hermione said. "Now that he's been held by one for so long, I'm sure he loathes them. At the time, he said he didn't mind."

"I didn't realize binding spells hurt when you reversed them," Ginny commented.

"They do when the bond has been in place that long. Of course, I didn't know that until I reversed the spell. It hurt like hell. If I'd know it was going to be like that, I wouldn't have done it at his office." She looked at Gabrielle. "I would have waited until he came back from his away games and done it at your house or here. But at the time, I was in a hurry to be done with it."

"Why the sudden rush?" Gabrielle asked, her eyes narrowing.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. I just…this is hard to explain, but when I came out of the coma, I just felt like Viktor was angry at me. I'm not sure why. It just seemed like something I should take care of as soon as I was able." She flicked her wand at Gabrielle causing her to wince, but the ropes disappeared.

Gabrielle sat up rubbing her arms.

Hermione ignored her. "So when did you two get here?" she asked Harry and Ginny.

"We'd only just arrived when we heard what I guess was the desk cracking."

Hermione looked at her desk. The ornately carved teak desk had been a wedding gift from Ron. It was beautiful, but now it was cracked in two, the halves resting awkwardly against each other on the floor.

Harry pulled his wand out. "Reparo," he said. The desk snapped back together, but there was the sound of glass breaking as it did so.

Hermione's heart sank.

"That's a serious hex you cast," Harry was saying to Gabrielle. "You're lucky Hermione was able to deflect it. I have a good mind to call the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Gabrielle looked terrified; her face had gone unnaturally pale.

Hermione shook her head. "No, that won't be necessary." She turned to Gabrielle. "I'm sure it's not easy to be married to Viktor. His fame draws a lot of unwanted attention to him, but I can tell you this, Viktor's no cheater and he loves you and the girls. Besides, I'm the last person he would ever want to be with. And just for the record, I would never do that to Ron. I'm quite happy in my own marriage."

There were tears in Gabrielle's eyes. She nodded.

"Go home," Hermione said. "And as far as I'm concerned the matter is settled."

"I'll walk you out," Ginny said and followed Gabrielle into the parlor.

Hermione walked over to her desk. There was a small silvery pool on the floor behind it. "Well this isn't good," she said collapsing into her desk chair. She put a hand over her eyes.

Harry came around the desk to see what she was talking about. "Is that…are those--?"

"Memories," Hermione finished for him.


	35. Putting Things Right

Chapter 35: Putting Things Right

Harry looked at Hermione; her face had gone ashen. "Will they dissipate?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No, they'll just lay there in a horrible puddle until I put them away."

She slid out of the chair on to the floor and folded her legs under her. She sank her face into her hands and Harry sat next to her. "Can't you just put them back in the bottles?" he asked.

"No, they have to go back in my head first. Then I could rebottle them. But I won't. It's time I stop running from things that make me uncomfortable. It's an abuse of power to permanently bottle memories. I know that."

"I'm not judging you, Hermione. I'm not sure, given the choice, that I wouldn't do the same thing."

She shook her head. "You wouldn't. And don't act like you couldn't if you wanted to. You just wouldn't." She looked at the memories. "I didn't want to do it like this. I wanted to take my time, put them in over a period of weeks. Not all at once." She shook her head. "How am I going to do this? I've got three hundred people coming tonight."

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "It's alright. Why don't you just leave it until tomorrow."

Hermione looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Because I can't just leave them here. What if someone from the party were to come in here and put one in the pensieve? I can't risk that."

"I don't think that's likely to happen."

"It doesn't matter, it could happen, so I can't take the risk."

Ginny came back in then and Harry looked up at her from his place on the floor.

"What's this then?" Ginny asked.

"Memories," Harry answered. "Rather unpleasant ones from what I gather."

Ginny squatted down in front of Hermione. "Yours?"

Hermione nodded.

Ginny sucked her teeth. "You're going to put them back in?"

Hermione nodded again. "It's going to take awhile. If you two could handle the rest of the party arrangements, I'll take care of this." She looked as if she was going to be sick.

Ginny patted her knee. "Alright then." She looked at Harry and indicated that he should follow her.

They walked outside the office and Ginny closed the doors behind them. "Do you know when Ron's getting back?"

Harry shook his head. "Sometime today, but I'm not sure when."

"Then you've got to stay with her."

"Me? I was going to suggest you. I would think she'd prefer another woman, I mean, I'm not sure what memories we're talking about, but--"

"No, Harry. She feels safe with you. She knows you won't let anything bad happen to her. It's like when Ron left her with you at St. Mungo's. It should be you."

Harry pushed his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Yeah," he said reluctantly. "I suppose it should." He leaned over and kissed Ginny softly on the lips. "You can handle everything else?"

She smiled and patted his cheek. "I think I can manage."

When Harry walked back into Hermione's study she was holding her wand, but hadn't yet dipped it into the memories. She looked up at him. "Did you need something?"

"I'm going to sit here with you while you put them back."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Harry. You don't want to do that."

Harry sat next to her on the floor. "No, but I am doing it."

Hermione blinked back tears as she nodded to him. "Better Imperturb the door. There's likely to be screaming." She bit her lip.

Harry cast the charm on the door and waited.

It seemed like a long time before Hermione built up the courage to dip into the memories. Finally, she picked one up on the tip of her wand. Harry watched as the silvery string snaked through the air like tethered smoke. Hermione took a deep breath and touched her wand to her temple. Her eyes rolled back and she let out a soft "oh." Her body jerked and she fell over on to her side.

"Hermione!" Harry called alarmed. "Talk to me." He gripped her shoulder but she pulled away from him.

"Don't touch. Amsterdam," she muttered thickly. She curled into a ball, trembling.

Harry sat awkwardly waiting for it to pass. Although he knew about the incident she was referring to he'd never been particularly comfortable with this aspect of her life. It was unseemly and so unlike her he didn't know what to make of it. Several minutes passed before she was able to sit up.

"Alright," she said shakily. "That wasn't so bad."

Harry looked at her in alarm. _She expected it to be worse?_

She looked miserably at the remaining memories on the floor. "I need a minute," she said.

They sat in silence for a little bit, before Harry asked, "Why did you go there?"

She looked up at him. "Amsterdam?"

He nodded.

"Nothing left to lose, I suppose."

"You still had me," he offered.

She shook her head and smiled sadly at him. "Not really. You had Ginny and she's Ron's sister. There was no place for me without Ron."

Harry looked down at his hands. She was right. He didn't like to think that, but she was right. During the years she was with Viktor he rarely saw her.

"No family, no friends, no job. All I had left was me, and I'm ashamed to say, that's just not enough. I'm not strong like you, Harry. I can't persevere no matter what. I need a sense of purpose."

"And Viktor gave you that?" Harry asked incredulously.

Hermione laughed bitterly. "Hardly. But he did keep me company. And running into him that Christmas Eve, probably saved my life, at least in the short term.

Harry's jaw dropped. He was shocked not only by what her statement implied but by her candor.

"In the long run, it was the Ministry that saved me."

"Because being an Unspeakable gave you a purpose."

Hermione nodded.

"So you took heroin because there was nothing better to do?"

"The first time I smoked it, I was curious, no sense that I shouldn't, at least. The other times, it was because I like it."

"Like it?" Harry said. "Still?"

Hermione nodded.

"You still smoke it?" he asked, shocked.

"No, haven't done in ages, although it did occur to me that it would make putting these memories back in a lot easier."

Harry was aghast. He was surprised to see this side of Hermione again. He thought it long gone.

She patted his knee. "I'm not going to, of course. I've got you to help me through this, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, still shocked.

"Besides, Ron would kill me." She smiled.

He smiled back at her. "That he would."

"Yeah," she nodded. She looked back at the memories. "Ready for the next one?" she asked.

"I'm ready when you are," he said.

"Right," Hermione said and stuck the tip of her wand into the memories, tethering another one." She took a deep breath and set the tip against her temple. Almost immediately she burst into tears. "No!" she wailed.

Harry shifted on the floor and put his arms around her.

"Mum and Dad," she whimpered. "So much blood…this is all my fault."

"Shh," Harry said stroking her hair. "It's not your fault. It was never your fault."

He held her for a long time as she sobbed against him. Finally, she pulled away, pushing at the tears on her cheeks with the heel of her hand. She looked at Harry. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I still miss them."

Harry nodded. "Of course you do."

"I hate that they never got to meet Art. Mum really wanted grandchildren, and I think Dad would have been very excited to have a grandson, since he only had a daughter."

"Yes," Harry said, "but he had a rather extraordinary daughter."

Hermione smiled weakly at him. "Not extraordinary enough though."

"It wasn't your fault." Harry said firmly.

Hermione shook her head. "I know that. I do, but it still feels like my fault, like I should have been there."

Harry shook his head. "The war was over. Voldemort was dead. None of us anticipated that attack, none of us, not even the Aurors."

She sat back against her desk. Harry thought he'd never seen her look so defeated.

"Perhaps we should take a break, sort out the rest of these later."

"No, if I stop now, I don't think I'll be able to start again. I just want to be finished."

Harry could understand her desire to continue, but she was looking quite sallow and he was worried about her condition. "How about some tea then, to build up your reserves."

Hermione nodded her consent.

"Winky," Harry shouted, and a moment later the tiny elf appeared. "I know you're busy with the party preparations, but could I trouble you for a spot of tea and perhaps some scones or biscuits?"

Winky snapped her fingers and disappeared only to reappear a moment later with a tray with a tea service and a plate of mixed biscuits and a variety of scones. "Is this to Mr. Potter's liking, sir?" she asked.

"Very much, thank you. Carry on."

Winky glanced anxiously at Hermione. "Would Miss be needing anything else?"

Hermione shook her head without looking at the house elf.

"Drink this, you'll feel better," Harry said, pouring the tea.

As Hermione sipped her tea, Harry spread a heavy layer of clotted cream on a scone and then piled it high with some of Winky's strawberry jam. He passed it to Hermione. "You need to eat to keep up your strength. This isn't just emotionally draining, there's a lot of magic involved here."

Hermione nodded as she took the scone. She ate mechanically as though she couldn't taste anything, which was a shame, Harry thought, since Winky's strawberry jam was really fantastic.

When she finished her scone, Harry insisted she eat a biscuit too. She ate it without a fuss in the same mechanical manner she'd eaten the scone. Harry supposed she'd been told to eat so many times in the last few weeks that she did it without thinking.

Hermione sat staring at the remaining memories long after she finished her tea. Harry waited patiently. He watched as she pushed her nails into the thick pile of the oriental carpet they were sitting on.

"Alright," Hermione said a few minutes later. "Next." She dipped her wand once more into what was now just a silvery spot.

Harry watched the memory sink into her head. He wasn't sure what to expect and found it left him on edge. She'd mentioned screaming before, but she didn't scream, instead she leaned back against her desk with tears streaming down her cheeks. She stared into space with a hollow expression. She didn't say anything and Harry started to get anxious. Perhaps she hadn't eaten enough.

"Hermione," he ventured. "What is it?"

"I lost the baby," she said sadly.

"Lost him?" Harry was taken aback. He tried to think what she could be talking about.

"Her," Hermione whispered. "It was a little girl. I know you're not supposed to ask when you miscarry, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know."

Harry looked at her wide-eyed. "I didn't know you and Ron had--"

Hermione shook her head. "You know Ron and I would have told you something like that."

Harry touched her cheek. "You could have told me even when you were with Viktor. I didn't realize you two were trying…"

Fresh tears slipped down Hermione's cheek. "We weren't. It was an accident."

"Oh," Harry said. "You still could have told me."

Hermione shook her head. "No, I couldn't. I was so devastated by the loss, but at the same time, I was also kind of relieved. How horrible is that?"

"That's not horrible," Harry scoffed. "That's natural. Having a child, as we both know, is a huge responsibility. There's no shame in not feeling ready. I mean how old were you?"

"Twenty."

"Well, then, that says it right there."

"It wasn't so much that," Hermione said, without looking at him. "Although, that was certainly part of it. I wasn't exactly ready for parenthood at the time, but I'm sure I could have managed. No, it was mostly that if I'd had the baby…"

"You'd shut the door on Ron forever," Harry finished for her.

She nodded. "What an awful thing to think at a time like that."

Harry put his arm over her shoulders. "Hermione, it's clear by now, don't you think, that you and Ron were meant for each other."

She smiled at him. "I think that's safe to assume, yes." She wiped the tears off her face with the sleeve of her robes.

"Then stop kicking yourself for recognizing it even back then."

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder. "When did you get so wise?"

Harry laughed and rested his head against hers. "I'm sure you could find many people who would argue with your assessment."

Hermione chuckled. "I don't think so."

She sighed and pulled away from him. She leaned over the one remaining memory squirming on the floor like a silvery worm.

She looked at Harry and her smile broke his heart. "There's something you should know before I put this last one in."

"Alright," Harry mentally braced himself.

"These memories are particularly fresh for me. The others I lived with for a long time before I chose to remove them for one reason or another, but this last one I never really lived with at all. I'm a bit frightened actually about how I'll react."

Harry nodded. "What's it a memory of?"

Hermione cleared her throat and started digging at the carpet pile again. "Not long after Amsterdam, Viktor took me to Bulgaria. We'd been to see a friend of his and on our way back home, Death Eaters attacked us. I got the scar on my shoulder during the fight on the street. I was taken and held for ten hours, before what seemed like every Auror in Eastern Europe showed up to rescue me. I couldn't identify any of my attackers, so the Aurors asked me to remove the memories so they could examine them in a pensieve, so I did. They gave them back to me, but I never put them back in."

"Ah," Harry said. "So now you don't know what to expect."

"Right," Hermione said, she picked up the memory with her wand and set it against her temple.

She screamed. Her body went rigid and she screamed for what felt to Harry like hours, but was probably just a matter of minutes. He recognized the Cruciatus curse and knew there was nothing to be done but wait it out. He didn't want to touch her for fear of adding to the pain, so he waited patiently sitting next to her.

He was relieved a few minutes later when she stopped screaming and rolled over. She surprised him by vomiting and then crawling under the desk.

"Hermione," Harry called, as he flicked his wand at the sick and caused it to disappear.

She paid him no mind and proceeded to curl herself into a ball as far under her desk as she could manage.

Harry approached cautiously. He didn't want to frighten her. "Hermione," he said again, holding out his hand to her.

She shrank away from him. "So cold," she muttered. "Need to find some clothes."

"You're wearing your robes, Hermione. You're all right. It's just a memory. Whatever you're experiencing isn't actually happening right now."

"I think they killed Viktor," she said in a small voice.

"No," Harry said. "No, Viktor's fine. Right as rain, he is."

Hermione nodded. "Good, good, so it was only me they got. Good."

"No, it's not good. Oh, damn," he muttered and crawled under the desk with her. She shrank away from him, but undaunted he took a seat with his back against the drawers on the opposite side from where she was sitting. He was thankful that Ron had bought such a large extravagant desk. "I'm right here, Hermione. Whatever it is going on in your head, you're not alone; I'm right here."

It was sometime later when Harry heard the sound of someone breaking the Imperturbable charm on the door to Hermione's study. He could hear Ron grumble, "bloody hell." A moment later, Ron was kneeling down to stare under the desk.

"Hullo, Harry."

"Ron," Harry said.

Hermione continued staring into space, rocking slightly and softly keening.

"Ginny told me what you two have been up to. How long has she been like that?"

"Probably fifteen maybe twenty minutes."

Ron sucked his teeth. "Well, I think that's enough then." He crawled under the desk and slid his arms under Hermione. She shrank away from him and the keening got louder. He pulled her out from under the desk and into his lap.

Harry crawled out after them. He marveled, when he saw them like this, how much bigger Ron was than Hermione. He cradled her in his arms like a child.

"It's alright now, luv," Ron said as he kissed the top of her head. "I've got you now, you're safe."

Hermione trembled against him for a minute before quietly venturing, "Ron?"

"That's right."

"You've come for me?" Hermione sobbed.

"I'll always come for you," Ron reassured her.

"And Harry, where's Harry?"

"Harry's right here."

"I'm here, Hermione," Harry said. "I'm fine, you're fine; we're all safe."

Ron readjusted Hermione in his arms and stood up. "Come on, luv. I'm going to put you to bed for a bit, give you a draught to help you sleep, alright?"

Hermione nodded as she clung to him.

Harry watched Ron carry her out of the room and felt his legs give way as he sank into her desk chair. He looked at the wall clock and shook his head. They'd only been in here a little under two hours, but it felt like days.


	36. A Lucky Bastard

Chapter 36: A Lucky Bastard

Ron gave Hermione a dreamless sleep draught and put her to bed. He found Harry a few minutes later still sitting at her desk in the study.

"You alright?" Ron asked.

"Fine," Harry said.

Ron didn't think he looked fine. "You sure?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. How's Hermione?"

Ron dropped into one of the wingchairs in front of Hermione's desk. "Sleeping. I gave her a draught."

"Probably wise. I don't think I've ever seen her so shaken."

Ron nodded and raked his fingers through his beard.

"Did you know she'd been captured in Bulgaria?"

Ron nodded again. "But only recently. I found out while she was still in hospital."

Harry pushed his fingers through his hair. "I don't understand why she would have bound Viktor to keep that secret."

Ron was staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. He flicked his wand and two more sticks of wood flew to the grate causing the flames to rise again. "She didn't want us to know. She said she was afraid we'd feel compelled to hunt them down. She just wanted the fighting to stop."

Harry sighed and covered his face with his hand.

"Thank you for staying with her." Ron said.

Harry nodded from behind his hand. "Of course." His voice sounded choked.

Ron waited a few minutes, watching the fire lick the wood before he continued. "I know she appreciated having you here, but you know when she wakes up--"

"She's going to hate that I saw her like that," Harry said quietly.

"She'll be embarrassed, and probably awkward around you for awhile, but she'll get over it. She always does."

"How the hell did we let that happen?" Harry said in a hollow voice.

"It was my fault," Ron replied. "I never should have pushed her, and when she left, I should have gone after her."

Harry shook his head. "No, it wasn't just you. She's one of my best friends. She's like my sister, and yet, for three years, she felt she couldn't come to me." He shook his head again. "I was so caught up in my own issues after the war…what a pathetic bastard I was."

Ron looked at him. "Come on, Harry. We were all caught up in our own issues, Hermione included. It was a long time ago. We've all moved past it now."

Harry looked up sharply. "Well, it didn't feel like she'd moved past much today."

Ron sighed. "Well, now whose fault is that? I mean really? I love that woman like my next breath, but she shouldn't have kept those memories bottled all these years. That's just asking for trouble."

Harry let his head drop back against the chair. "I know; she knows that too, but it didn't make it any easier watching her put them back in."

There was knock on the door and Ginny came in carrying a tray of sandwiches and some pumpkin juice. "I thought you two might want a spot of lunch." She set the tray on the desk and sat next to Ron in the other wingchair. "Did you put Hermione to bed? I saw you carry her upstairs."

"Yeah, she's out."

"For how long," Ginny asked, taking a glass of juice.

"I just gave her enough draught to let her sleep a few hours. She's going to need to get ready for the party."

"Yeah, about that…" Ginny said.

Ron noticed Harry look away.

"Have you seen **The Prophet** this morning."

Ron took a sandwich and a glass of juice from the tray. "I read it in the hotel this morning. I assume you're talking about the gossip column."

Ginny nodded.

"Rubbish," Ron said.

"Still, to face all those people at the party after the morning she's already had. That's asking a lot, Ron." Ginny said softly.

Ron snorted. "She's going to the party. If I walk in there alone, I'm a cuckold. If she's with me the article's just rubbish."

"But--," Harry said.

"No," Ron said firmly. "No buts, she's going." He took a bite of his sandwich as if to emphasize the point. He noticed Harry and Ginny didn't seem to have any appetite at all.

Art and Emma and his cousins were still working on transfiguring the paper cups into water goblets when Ginny finally came back to the enlarged dining room. They were only two thirds of the way done.

"Good grief, the party is set to start in less than an hour," she complained. She was already wearing her elegant dress robes. "Worthless, the lot of you!" She flicked her wand at the table and the rest of the paper cups snapped into perfect crystal wine goblets.

"Mum!" Clive exclaimed leaning over to pick up one of the goblets. "That's bloody brilliant."

Ginny snorted. "Well, I'm glad you think so. Go get changed, all of you, go on."

As the four of them exited to get dressed upstairs, Ginny stopped Clive. "Where are your socks?"

"What do you mean?" Clive asked innocently.

"It was a simple question, Clive." Ginny glared at him. "Tell me you brought some to wear with your dress robes."

He shrugged. "I'll just transfigure some from something else, don't worry."

"No!" Ginny shouted. "I'm not having your socks turn into handkerchiefs half way through the party, you--"

"He can borrow a pair of mine, Auntie G.," Art said quickly. He wasn't sure why but his aunt seemed in a foul mood and provoking her seemed ill planned on Clive's part.

Art had been feeling uneasy ever since this morning and that damn gossip column, but his anxiety had really ratcheted up a notch when his father came home and a little while later was seen carrying his obviously distraught mother upstairs. He wasn't the only one who noticed the tension in the air. All of the kids were upset, which was evident in the fact that they kept messing up their transfigurations and having to redo them.

He wondered as he walked up the stairs to his room whether his mother would attend the party tonight.

As Art dug through his socks, looking for a descent black pair, he could hear Clive let out a low whistle behind him.

"What?" Art said, turning around, a pair of black dress socks in his hand.

"That's Emma's suitcase," Clive exclaimed.

"Yeah," Art said, handing him the socks.

"Is she staying here?" Clive asked.

"You know she's staying here, you daft git," Art said punching Clive on the shoulder.

"I knew she was staying here in this house. I did not know she was staying here in this room." His eyes narrowed. "You're shagging Emma Silsbury. You've bagged the Head Girl!"

"Shh!" Art hissed. "Shut your bloody trap!"

"Ho, yes," Clive continued in a softer voice. With his arms stretched out before him, he gave an exaggerated bow. "I supplicate myself before you O sex god! What is thy secret?"

Art could feel himself blushing. "Bugger off, Clive."

"No, I'm serious," Clive said, kneeling now. "First Susan Parker, now Emma Silsbury. You're a bloody genius!"

Art smacked him in the back of the head. "You're the only one who knows about Susan, so you better shut your trap or I'll hex it shut for you." He drew his wand for good measure.

"Ooh," Clive said, getting to his feet. "Emma doesn't know you bagged Susan first? Did you tell her you were a virgin, Artie? Did you give her the old let-me-share-something-with-you-I've-never-shared-before line? Does that sort of rubbish actually work?"

Art wanted to kill him. "No, I didn't give her some lame line to get her in bed. Here's a concept you probably can't understand, but I'll use small words so you can follow me. I actually love Emma, and I'm thinking about asking her to marry me."

Art could practically hear Clive's jaw hit the ground. "What? You can't be serious—not about loving her, all right, you love her. But marriage, come on Artie, marriage?"

"It's complicated," Art said gruffly, not wanting to explain the situation with Emma's parents and her sister.

"Oh, bollocks," Clive said, the blood draining from his face. "You've gone and knocked her up."

Art pushed him rather hard. "No, I haven't! Just drop it."

"Well, if she's not pregnant," Clive continued trying to puzzle the situation out. "Why would your parent's let you sleep in the same room, unless--do they even know? I mean what with your mum in hospital and all that, have they even been up here?"

Art rolled his eyes. "Yes they know. How stupid do you think they are?"

"Not stupid, distracted, but you say they know. And they're all right with it? Why aren't my parents as tolerant as yours? Devin and I can't get away with anything."

Art shrugged. "I reckon it's different when you have more than one."

"Bloody unfair is what it is!" Clive grumbled.

Art sighed. "Just go get dressed, yeah. We have to be downstairs in a bit."

"I still say you're the luckiest bastard I know."

"Get out," Art said firmly.


	37. The Shape of Things

Chapter 37: The Shape of Things

Ginny couldn't help but smile when she saw Clive and Art coming downstairs in their dress robes. Clive looked just like Fred and George only with his father's unruly black hair. Art, on the other hand, was a Weasley redhead and the spitting image of Ron, only with Hermione's curly hair. In their black dress robes, they both looked way too much like men for Ginny's taste. Where had the time gone? A few steps behind them was Devin, tall and lanky like Art, Devin's hair was a deep red and straight like Ginny's. All three of them had piercing blue eyes, and although Ginny knew she might be biased, they were a handsome lot.

As she passed them on the stairs, Clive and Devin both kissed her on the cheek, meaning they were up to something. She made a note to check on them throughout the evening. As Moody used to say "Constant Vigilance!" It was practically her mantra for motherhood.

She made her way up to Ron and Hermione's room and knocked on the door.

"Come in," was the soft reply.

Ginny opened the door to find Hermione sitting at her dressing table in her bra and knickers holding her wand to her hair. She set it down when she saw that it was Ginny.

"Hullo, I thought you were Ron."

"No, it's me. I thought you could use some help with your hair."

Hermione sighed and her shoulders slumped. "It's the oddest thing; I can't seem to remember the spells."

"It's all right," Ginny said, pulling out her own wand. "I know them." As she cast the spells to have Hermione's unruly locks hanging in relaxed ringlets, Ginny watched for signs of life in her old friend, but Hermione kept her eyes down and her shoulders remained slumped. Ginny didn't think she'd gained much weight back since the hospital and her scars stood out thick and white against her skin.

"How do you feel about a bit of makeup?"

Hermione glanced at her image in the mirror. "That's probably a good idea."

Ginny used a combination of charms and potions to make Hermione's skin rosy and her eyes sparkle. When she was done, Hermione looked both younger and more vibrant, but a profound sadness remained.

"Look," Ginny said to Hermione's image in the mirror, "Harry told me. About the abduction."

Hermione glanced up for an instant, before letting her gaze drop. "It was a long time ago. I'm fine now."

"But it doesn't feel like it was a long time ago does it?" Ginny gently asked.

Hermione shook her head.

Ginny rested her hands on Hermione's shoulders. "It gets better," she said. "It takes time, but it does get better."

Hermione nodded. "I just don't know how I'm going to face all those people." She looked at her image in the mirror. "I look a fright."

"No, you don't," Ginny said.

Hermione looked at her incredulously. "I'm skin and bones, there are dark circles under my bloodshot eyes. My skin is all blotchy from crying. What isn't frightening about that?"

"No fair looking past the charms," Ginny grumbled. "There aren't going to be but maybe five people at the whole party that are even capable of seeing past the charms, and those five aren't going to bother."

Hermione smiled weakly. "You're right. I just need to get over this, buck up and move on."

Ginny sighed and conjured a chair and sat down next to Hermione. "I didn't say that. Actually, I argued quite strongly through most of the afternoon that Ron should let you skip the party."

"I can't do that," Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "I've embarrassed him enough already."

"No, you haven't," Ginny scoffed.

Hermione glared at her. "Yes, I have. He made that quite clear when he woke me. Come hell or high water, I'm walking into that room with him."

Ginny frowned. "That's just ridiculous. You're exhausted."

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "But as Ron would point out, it's my fault I'm exhausted. I never should have bottled those memories in the first place. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be in this mess. While we're on the subject, I never should have gone to Viktor about the bond. I should have owled him and had him come here where I could have broken the bond in private. Ron's furious with me. He's furious about a million things, and unfortunately, they've all come to head tonight, and they're all my fault."

Ginny shook her head. "Have you been taking personal responsibility lesson's from Harry? Because for a moment there, you sounded just like him."

Hermione snorted. "Please, if I had a shred of Harry's sense of responsibility I wouldn't be in this mess."

Ginny frowned; it was clear there was no point in trying to talk sense into her. "Alright then. Let's get you into your dress robes."

Ron kept looking at the clock and taking deep breaths to try and remain calm. People would start arriving any moment and Hermione still hadn't come downstairs. Ginny had come down five minutes ago and had said Hermione was right behind her. Just as he was about to bellow her name, she appeared on the landing.

Ron opened his mouth but didn't have the words. She looked like herself, which he really couldn't have said for the last month. Instead of an emaciated bag of bones with sallow skin and hollow eyes, he had his wife back. Her skin was rosy and her eyes sparkled. Her hair was pulled up in a cascade of chestnut curls. The deep brown velvet dress she was wearing hugged what were the curves she was supposed to have. As she walked down the stairs he noticed the dress would hint at red as she moved. She was beautiful and he couldn't believe how much he'd missed that.

"You look fantastic," he said, as he took her hand.

Hermione shrugged. "Your sister and Padma and Parvati are all very talented witches."

Ron leaned down and kissed her forehead. "They've only managed to make you look like yourself." He tilted her chin up and looked her in the eye. "All set?"

She pulled away from him, but nodded.

He took her hand and together they walked into the ballroom.

It was two hours before Ron consented to let Hermione leave his side and go out on the balcony for some fresh air. The night was cold and crisp and the balcony was blissfully empty, or at least it appeared so at first glance. In the corner, Clive had done a rather decent concealment charm in an attempt to hide the fact that he was snogging some girl senseless.

She'd hoped to have a few minutes alone. Apparently that was not to be. Hermione rolled her eyes, and cleared her throat.

The two separated and held still, clearly hoping she didn't see them.

"Clive," Hermione finally said. "Send your guest inside."

The concealment charm fell completely apart then and the startled girl skittered inside. Clive watched longingly as she left. He walked reluctantly over to where Hermione was standing. "You're killing me Auntie H."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Hmm, if I really wanted to kill you, I would just tell your mother."

"Oh, please don't do that," Clive begged, giving her his most pitiful face.

"I tell you what, let me bum a fag, and I'll keep this to myself."

"A fag?" Clive said innocently.

"Please, Clive, I can see magic. For that matter, I can smell it and taste it too. Do you honestly think I don't know you smoke?"

Clive looked vaguely alarmed, but he reached into his robes and pulled out a small black case and handed her a cigarette. "I didn't know you smoke."

"I don't," Hermione said. "Anymore. I just need a break, and whiskey seemed like a bad idea. I need to clear my head not cloud it."

Clive nodded and lit the cigarette for her then lit one for himself and casually leaned back against the railing. "Smashing party," he said.

Hermione took a deep satisfying drag on the cigarette and surveyed the dancing couples through the balcony doors. "You really think so?"

"Sure, although it was a bit better before you chased off my bird."

Hermione gave him a withering glance. "Please, wasn't that Margaret Perry? You're better off, she's a dolt."

Clive laughed. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"No, I don't. I've seen her essays. If she had a thought in her head, it would die of loneliness."

Clive shrugged. "You never said anything about her when you were at Hogwarts?"

"Because, when you're a professor, it's considered bad form to tell a student she's a dolt, even if she is one."

Someone opened the balcony door. Hermione waved her hand and their cigarettes disappeared.

It was Seamus who looked around the deck and asked, "Have you seen Lavender?"

Hermione shook her head, "Not for awhile, last I saw she was headed to the loo."

Seamus nodded and went back inside.

Hermione waved her hand again and their cigarettes reappeared. She took another deep drag, reveling in the comforting familiarity of the smoke entering her lungs.

"How did you do that?" Clive asked.

Hermione blew out a long stream of smoke. "Years of practice."

"And a lot of raw power?"

Hermione shrugged again. "That too."

"You're really surprising sometimes, you know that?"

Hermione smiled. "I should be getting back in." She crushed out her cigarette on the balcony railing and then waved her wand over it, making the mark and the butt disappear. "You shouldn't smoke, Clive. It's a disgusting habit."

Hermione made her way back inside through the throngs of people. Clive was right. Everyone did seem to be having a good time. She could see Ron in the middle of a crowd telling the thrilling tale of his last Quidditch match against Ginny's crew from the inn. The whole group was laughing. She really didn't want to wade into that, but it was too cold to go back outside. She decided she wouldn't be missed if she took a few moments to herself in her study.

She had just sat down when there was a knock at the door. Hermione sighed. It was probably Ron come to chastise her for leaving the party.

"Come in," she said, resigned to her fate.

She was surprised to see Michelle come into the study, sliding the pocket doors closed behind her.

"Hullo," Hermione said.

Michelle had a plate of appetizers in her hand. "I saw you come in here," she said. "You look terrible. You should eat something." She set the plate on Hermione's desk and sat in one of the wing chairs.

"By all means, have a seat," Hermione said tightly. She wondered if Ginny was counting Michelle when she said there were only five people at the party who could see through charms. "Thanks for the food." She reached for a shrimp puff.

"Are you eating enough? You don't look as though you've put on any more weight." Michelle continued.

"I eat all the time, Ron has me on a three hour feeding schedule. It's like I'm a bloody infant."

"Then you're doing too much magic. You need to cut back until you've put on some weight and have a little reserve."

Hermione glared at her.

"But that's not why I came in here."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at her and took another shrimp puff.

"I know it's none of my business, but that gossip column this morning--"

What had been a delicious shrimp puff turned to sawdust in Hermione's mouth. It was all she could do to choke it down.

"Was it true?"

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She took a moment to school her thoughts and then looked Michelle in the eye. "No," she said firmly. "I mean seriously, you of all people should know, I'm in no condition for an illicit affair." Hermione had been reaching for levity, but the hard look in Michelle's eyes told her she'd failed to achieve it.

"So if you felt better, it wouldn't be out of the question?" Michelle's tone was absolutely venomous.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't be ridiculous," Hermione snapped.

Michelle gave her a look of contempt. "How is it ridiculous? You seem to have your choice of men."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she laughed.

Michelle's mouth tightened to a thin angry line.

"I assure you," Hermione said, sobering, "I have only ever wanted one man. The fact that I briefly had another is practically incidental."

"Incidental to you maybe, but it wasn't to Ron," Michelle said quietly.

"Look, I'm sorry if--"

"Don't!" Michelle interrupted. "Don't you dare apologize to me for what happened between us. I don't need that from you."

Hermione relented. "Of course not."

Michelle stared at her for a moment. She sighed. "When I left him--"

The words hit Hermione hard. She'd left him. He would have stayed with her then. Michelle must have read the reaction on her face.

"Yes, I left him. I'd hoped at the time to snap him into some kind of realization of what I meant to him, what we had together."

Hermione nodded sadly. "I know that feeling. Didn't work for you either?"

Michelle sighed. "Not quite. My leaving did make him realize what I meant to him, which was nothing."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, something soothing. Then she realized there wasn't anything, so she closed it again.

"Men like Ron aren't exactly a dime a dozen. There isn't one on every street corner," Michelle continued.

"No," Hermione agreed, but then she smiled. "You know though," she touched her breastbone, "there are good men out there."

Michelle looked skeptical.

"I got the scar on my chest during a fight at the Ministry of Magic."

Michelle nodded. "Yes, I know." It was clear from her face that she didn't know where Hermione was going with this story.

"It wasn't Ron who carried me, unconscious on his back, through the Ministry, but a boy name Neville, not because he loved me, but because he's just a damn fine bloke."

Michelle continued looking at her.

"He's a botanist now and only just back from three years in the Amazon rain forest where he's been cataloguing native magical species with tribal healers."

"What--?" Michelle started.

"Would you like to meet him?"

Hermione smiled as she made her way back to her study. Michelle and Neville were chatting amicably and Michelle seemed at least mildly impressed. After all, while not exactly what Hermione would call handsome, Neville was no longer the round-faced, pudgy boy of their youth. He had a certain rakishness about him since he'd come back from the Amazon. His hair was a bit long which suited him and he was tan from long hours in the sun. He'd shot up some four or five inches since school which turned his pudginess into a strong sturdy build. All of that was for the better, but more importantly, he had an air of confidence about him now, and yet he was still sweet, dear Neville. Michelle could do a lot worse, Hermione mused.

She sat down at her desk and polished off the remaining appetizers on the plate Michelle had brought in. She was trying to decide if she felt like conjuring pumpkin juice when there was another knock at the door. This time she was sure Ron had caught her.

Wrong again. It was Harry. Hermione felt an instant flood of shame.

"Hullo," Harry said, sliding the doors closed behind him. "Taking a bit of a break?"

"Just for a tick. I needed a moment away from the throng." She couldn't look at him.

"The party's going well though, don't you think?" Harry said, taking a seat in one of the wing chairs.

"People seem to be enjoying themselves if that's what you mean."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What else would I mean?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione said. "I suppose you could be referring to the rumor mill. I've only been confronted about that damn column once to my face, but there does seem to be a great deal of whispering when I walk by. Then again, perhaps I'm just being paranoid."

"I don't think I'd worry too much about the rumor mill if I were you," Harry said. "I think you'll find between the three of them that Padma, Parvati and Lavender have pretty much squelched all that."

"What?" Hermione said, surprised.

"Oh, yes, Ginny overheard Padma tell Lavender and Parvati what rubbish that whole article was. She went on and on about what bad shape you're in and how that couldn't possibly have happened. Then Lavender concluded that you and Ron were clearly in love and always had been and the papers ought to just let you alone. Apparently, they've been spreading this throughout the party whenever the subject comes up. I myself heard someone say you looked fantastic tonight, and Parvati called him a fool and told him the dress was charmed and that you were just skin and bones."

"Well, that's good, I suppose. I mean better to be called out for wearing a charmed dress than to have people think I'm shagging Viktor again."

Harry looked at her over the rims of his glasses. "I should think so."

Now that Viktor had been mentioned, Hermione felt even more awkward. She hated that Harry had been there and yet, she was so grateful that he was. "Thank you," she said quietly, "for this morning. I am sorry you had to see that."

Harry took his glasses off and wiped the lenses on his robes. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that in the first place, but I'm most sorry that you didn't feel you could come to me at the time. I treated you shabbily when you were with Viktor. You didn't deserve that."

Hermione shook her head. "I was the one who walked away, Harry. That's on me and the subsequent messes I got myself into, those are on me as well."

"You shouldn't have had to go it alone," Harry said firmly.

"But I didn't, did I? Viktor was there. We may have had our faults as a couple, but we were there for each other."

Harry shook his head. "That's not the same."

Hermione smiled sadly. "No it wasn't, but at the time it had to do, and that's alright."

"Would you really have…?" Harry paused.

"What?"

"Nothing," Harry shook his head again. "It's neither the time nor the place."

"Ask," Hermione said firmly. "It's been my experience that there is never a good time or place for awkward questions. If you want to know something, ask. I'm through with secrets. Ask and I'll answer."

Harry nodded but looked at the carpet. "Earlier today you said, well, you implied…" He looked up at her with a pleading expression. "Would you really have offed yourself if Viktor hadn't shown up that Christmas Eve?"

Hermione took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This hadn't been the question she'd expected. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but not this. Finally, she answered as honestly as she could. "I don't know. It had certainly crossed my mind to the point that I had considered methods."

Harry shook his head. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"What was I to do, Harry? Send you an owl, 'Oh Harry, I know you just got engaged but I'm thinking of slitting my wrists in the bath because I simply don't know what else to do with my time.' How could I have done?"

Harry's horrified expression tempered her sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, that was off sides," she said quietly.

Harry put a hand over his eyes. "Hermione…" his voice cracked.

"Harry," she said soothingly. "It was a million years ago. Another lifetime. I look back on that whole time period and I barely recognize myself." She chuckled wryly. "And yet, no matter how much time passes, decisions I made back then do have a tendency to resurface. But you know, I can't control that. What I can control is my reaction and that's where I need improvement and believe it or not what we did today with the memories was a big step in the right direction. I have to stop running from things I find painful or distasteful."

Harry put his hand down and looked at her.

"I had those experiences, and for better or worse, they shaped who I am now."

Harry nodded. "Actually, sometimes I think my bad decisions are the ones that shaped me the most, or at least they seem to have the most significant impact."

Hermione smiled. "Isn't that the truth?"


	38. Soiree

Chapter 38: Soiree

Hermione walked back to the dining room/ballroom and moved deftly through small groups of people nodding, smiling and checking to see that everyone was having a good time. She was playing the part of the perfect hostess, but she wasn't feeling it. What she really wanted was for everyone to go home. It seemed to her that even the fairies sitting in the garlands looked tired. She just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for a week and forget this day ever happened.

She found Ron listening to one of his clients from Cornwall talk about how many people it took to cast a concert. Hermione slipped quietly under his arm and he pulled her close to him without breaking conversation with his client. When the fellow from Cornwall excused himself to get another drink, Ron looked down at Hermione and gave her a quick kiss. "Where have you been?"

"I just took a moment to myself," she said.

Concern wrinkled his forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Fine," Hermione said.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes, Ron, I've eaten. Actually, Michelle brought me a plate."

Ron looked down at her. "Really?"

"Yes, like everyone else, she commented on my weight."

Ron pulled her closer. "You'll be yourself in no time. I have all the confidence in the world."

Hermione nodded.

She stayed by his side talking with their guests for another hour before Ron excused himself to go to the loo, and she took the opportunity to slip back out on to the balcony. The night had grown even colder, so she charmed herself a warm spot in the corner and conjured another fag. She hoped Clive wouldn't notice she'd magically nicked another one. She lit it with the end of her wand and took a long drag.

She heard the door open behind her. Immediately she made the cigarette disappear and breathed the smoke out into the night before turning around.

"Don't do that," Ron said as she turned toward him.

"What?"

He frowned at her. "I thought you were done with secrets, besides I already know about this one."

She snapped her fingers and the cigarette reappeared. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be," Ron said walking toward her. "I reckon you deserve a fag after the day you've had."

Hermione looked down at the cigarette in her hand. She took another drag before saying, "I thought it better than getting pissed in front of all these people."

Ron nodded. "Definitely." He leaned over the balcony railing and looked out at the night, after a few moments he turned back to her. "Listen, I'm sorry about this afternoon."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't be."

"No," Ron said. "I am sorry. I was too hard on you." He stepped into her warm circle. "Nice," he breathed.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"What I should have done," he continued, "when I got home, was do what I'd been longing to do since I left." He cupped her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her.

She opened her mouth to him and felt his tongue slide along hers. He tasted of whiskey and chocolate. When he finally pulled out of the kiss, Hermione said, "I missed you too."

"You don't embarrass me," he said.

Hermione dropped her eyes. She could feel a lump forming in her throat. "I do, and I'm sorry."

"No," Ron said firmly. "I was angry Hermione, angry at the damn paper, angry that you got hurt, angry that all these people were coming to the house when all I wanted to do was hold you and watch the fire in the parlor. I took it out on you and I shouldn't have."

She shook her head. "I shouldn't have gone to Viktor. I should have had him come here."

"Yeah, in retrospect maybe that would have been better. But you know what? You shouldn't have to wonder what the press will think every time you walk out the door or pick up your wand."

Hermione turned away from him and leaned against the balcony railing. She couldn't bear how sweet he could be sometimes.

He stepped behind her and pressed his whole body against hers. She could fell him hard against her bum.

"Ron," she chuckled.

"I want you so bad right now, I can't stand it," he whispered in her ear.

"It's the dress," she dismissed.

"It's not the bloody dress," he growled in her ear. "When are these people going to go home?"

"What time is it?"

"Almost midnight," he said kissing her neck.

"Shouldn't we get back inside?"

"Sod them, let's go upstairs." He thrust against her to emphasize his point.

She laughed and pushed him playfully away. "I don't think so. Come on, we're supposed to be hosting this soiree."

"Fine," he grumbled, "but the minute they're gone, you're mine."

"Well, then," Hermione commented, "I should probably have a sandwich."

People began gathering into one large crowd in the middle of the ballroom as the New Year approached. An enormous champagne fountain appeared on a table in the center of the room. Winky was known for this trick. Apparently, she used to do them for the Crouch's parties, and they had only gotten more elaborate since then. Multi-colored sprays of champagne cascaded into crystal flutes arranged in tiered rings. As people began to gather round taking glasses from the fountain, Hermione began to feel more in the spirit of the occasion. After all, if anyone was ready for this year to be over, she was. She took a champagne flute and started moving toward Ron.

Ron was the one who started the crowd on the countdown. When it reached the final second to the New Year, he grabbed Hermione and kissed her in the middle of the room in the middle of the crowd. He kissed her like their love was new, like he couldn't get enough of her. Even though she knew everyone was clapping for the arrival of the New Year, it felt like they were clapping for her and Ron.


	39. Sated and Soothed

Chapter 39: Sated and Soothed

It was almost two in the morning before the guests had all cleared out. Harry and Ginny had just left and Clive, Devin, Art and Emma were all sitting at the kitchen table. Hermione came in to get a glass of pumpkin juice and a biscuit.

"Grand party, Auntie H." Devin said.

Hermione shrugged as she drank her juice. "Wasn't the best, wasn't the worst."

"Really?" Clive said. "What was the best then?"

Hermione smiled. "Our wedding."

Ron had just stepped into the kitchen. "I'd second that. Fabulous party that was."

"Then what was the worst?" Art asked.

His parents answered at the same time. "Harry and Ginny's wedding."

Seeing the shocked look on Clive and Devin's faces, Hermione amended, "for us, not for anyone else. It was a beautiful wedding really."

"Lovely," Ron said, as he leaned over and began to scrounge around in the icebox for something to eat.

"Then why was it so awful?" Devin asked.

Clive rolled his eyes. "Because you daft git, Auntie H. probably showed up with Uncle Viktor."

There was a stunned silence in the room.

Hermione broke it. "No, I didn't," she said simply and ran her hand across Ron's back as she walked out of the kitchen.

Ron straightened up and watched her walk out.

"I don't understand," Devin continued. "If she didn't bring Uncle Viktor, what was the problem?"

Ron frowned at him. "She came alone; I didn't. Bloody stupid of me. Wrecked us for the next two and half years."

"Oh," Devin said softly.

"I'm going to bed. Don't stay up too late, you boys should be heading home soon."

As Ron walked up the stairs his mind was flooded with Harry and Ginny's wedding. He remembered getting the invitation and knowing with absolute certainty that Hermione would bring Viktor. They had already made an appearance on the cover of **Witch Weekly** and it ate at Ron like a cancer. He decided then and there that he would find the perfect witch to accompany him to the wedding, and that she would be everything that Hermione was not. He found her in a sweet girl named Willa who worked at the Quidditch supply shop in Diagon Alley. She had been two years behind them at Hogwarts but hadn't continued her education past her O.W.L.s. She was a beauty. Tall and buxom, she had shiny straight black hair that hung half way down her back. She was very sweet and Ron went after her like his life depended on it. He wooed her with a full court press, and once she consented to go out with him, he became the perfect boyfriend. He was attentive, he sent gifts, he listened to her and encouraged her, and he arranged for them to take dancing lessons as a surprise for her. Of course, he'd had his own reasons for taking dancing lessons. He'd never danced with Hermione, and he knew she loved to dance, so he felt showing up with Willa and dancing all night with her would be the perfect snub. I never bothered learning to dance for you, it would say, but she is so amazing, so much better than you, I've learned to dance for her.

He was so filled with vengeance by the time the wedding came he was almost giddy. His plan had worked perfectly. Willa openly adored him and Ron knew her looks alone would push all of Hermione's insecurity buttons. He had groomed himself carefully that morning, assuring that his beard, which he had just started wearing, should be impeccably trimmed, that not a hair on his head was out of place and that his dress robes fit him perfectly. He was in black and Willa wore robes of sapphire blue. They looked fantastic together. Willa was positively glowing she was so excited about the wedding. She hadn't met any of Ron's friends or family before and she was frantic to make a good impression.

When they arrived, Hermione wasn't there. Willa excused herself to go to the loo, "nerves" she'd whispered excitedly to Ron. Naturally, the moment she walked off, Hermione appeared. She was wearing heavy silk robes in a green so dark it was almost black. Despite her attempts at concealment, there were dark circles under her eyes and she was gaunt more than thin. Of course, Ron knew now it was because she had been abducted in Bulgaria not three weeks before the wedding, but at the time he assumed it was from too much partying. **Witch Weekly** had already managed to give her quite the reputation for burning the candle at both ends. Ron looked around for Krum, but he was nowhere to be seen. Catching sight of him, Hermione walked right up to him.

"Ron," she said. "It's so good to see you."

He nodded. "Yeah, you too." He was already beginning to regret his plan. "So where's Krum gotten himself off to?"

Hermione looked pained. "I didn't bring him. Actually, I was hoping you and I could--"

And that's when Willa reappeared. She'd practically bounced to his side and she had nothing but smiles for Hermione.

"Hullo," Willa said, holding out her hand.

Hermione shook it, but as she stood there looking up at Willa, Ron got all the hurt and pain he was hoping for from her. He felt like a total ass. He made introductions reluctantly. Suddenly, he wanted Willa to disappear. He knew what Hermione was going to say. He knew why she'd come alone, and worse yet, so did the rest of the family.

Thank goodness for George who effortlessly stepped in as Hermione's date. It was George who danced with her for every dance. He sat next to her at dinner and was charming and funny. And finally, it was George who saw her safely home when she was so blind drunk she could barely stand up.

Prior to the wedding, everyone had rallied around Ron, accepting his story that she walked out on him. After the wedding, that cooled some. Suddenly, Ron's behavior prior to the breakup began to be questioned. And Willa, poor Willa. He was through with her the moment he'd seen Hermione. He was still ashamed of how badly he'd treated the poor girl. Ron still couldn't walk into Quality Quidditch Supply, which Willa now managed. He ordered all his Quidditch gear via owl post.

After Willa came a series of nameless, faceless witches who were only interested in bedding a war hero, and since Harry wasn't available, Ron was only too willing to accommodate them. It wasn't until he met Michelle that he even attempted another serious relationship.

He was a little hesitant about what he might find when he reached their bedroom. He really wished Harry and Ginny's wedding hadn't come up. He knew Hermione had already had a brutal day and he was wondering if this last bit might do her in. He mourned the shag that could have been, summoned his Gryffindor courage, and opened the door.

Hermione was sitting on the edge of their bed still in the elegant gown she'd been wearing all night.

_That's not a good sign_, Ron thought, but was surprised a moment later when she stood and crossed the room.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his chest. "I love you so much."

Ron kissed the top of her head. "I love you too. I'm surprised you haven't gone to bed. I thought you were knackered."

She looked up at him, "but I thought you wanted--" She ran her hand down the front of his trousers.

"I do." He cupped her face his in his hand. "But I can wait if you're tired."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to wait."

Ron was pleased with this news, but he couldn't help feeling like something was off. He took her hands and led her back over to the bed. He sat down and looked up at her. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Then why are you still in that dress?"

She looked down. "I thought you might prefer if I left it on."

Ron frowned. He stood suddenly. "Turn around."

Hermione's eyes widened but she complied.

He unzipped her and let the dress drop and pool at her feet. "I told you it's not the bloody dress. It's never about what you're wearing, or how your hair looks, it's just you. It's always been you."

She didn't say anything, so Ron pressed his chest against her back and slid his hands over her hips, up her ribs to cup her breasts. She trembled beneath his hands, but he could tell from the feel of her it wasn't from excitement.

He took a gamble. "Even when I wasn't with you, I always chose women by what I thought you'd think. Would they impress you? Would they make you jealous? In some ways you consumed me more during the three years we were apart than you do now."

She looked up at him then and blinked back tears.

"Don't think I don't know what happened at that wedding. Don't think I don't understand what it cost you. I knew at the time that I'd fucked up, but it wasn't until you showed me those memory bottles that I realized just how badly I hurt you that day."

No longer able to stop her tears, Hermione simply stood there crying while he continued.

"Every single date, every one of those memories happened before Harry and Ginny got married. You were coming home. You wanted to come back. And I wouldn't let you."

Hermione shook her head. "Who could blame you? I wasn't worth having." She hung her head. "Still not really. I make such a mess of things. I can't believe you ever took me back."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "Are you mental? If I'd had any sense at all I would have taken you home that night, not George. And let me tell you something, you don't corner the market on making a mess. Michelle is a great example of one mess I made, but Willa, Willa was so much worse. To this day I still can't believe I did that to her. She loved me."

"So did Michelle," Hermione said.

"Yeah, and I was a right bastard to both of them, because honestly, there was only ever you." He rested his palm between her breasts. "So you see, I want you however I can have you whenever you'll have me."

She looked up at him with very dark eyes. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. "Then you can have me anyway you want me."

So he took her. He took her in all the ways she needed to be taken. He'd been with this woman for a very long time and he knew there were nights she needed physical proof of his devotion. She needed it like oxygen. So he had her, above and below, back and front, with his mouth and his hands and his cock, sitting, standing and lying down until they both collapsed in an exhausted sticky heap, sated and soothed. He spooned against her and waited for the slow steady breaths that indicated she was asleep before dropping off himself.


	40. Waiting

Chapter 40: Waiting

_"You never go out anymore! All you do is sit at home with your head in a bloody book or worse you're gone for days testing. All this studying and testing, it's worse than when we were at school. How about generating a little income instead of sitting around all day? You're bloody worthless. I can't stand the sight of you anymore. Oh don't start crying. I can't stand the fucking crying. I'm sick to death of you. I need you the hell away from me. I'm going to the pub."_

"Ron, please," Hermione awoke gasping. There was a persistent pounding on their bedroom door.

"It's all right," Ron said. "It's all right. I'll get it." He stumbled from the bed and pulled his dressing gown from the back of the wardrobe. "I'm coming," he shouted. He tied the sash around his waist and called his wand as he walked to the door.

He yanked it open. Clive and Devin were on the other side.

"Uncle Ron, Art and Emma Disapparated!"

"What?" Ron shouted.

Hermione sat up in bed, pulling the sheet and blanket up to keep covered. "What?"

"When?" Ron said.

"Just now," Clive and Devin both answered.

"Why, what's happened?" Hermione asked, wrapping the bedclothes around her and walking over to the others.

Clive looked at her askance. "Um, we don't know. Dev and I were getting ready to leave and suddenly Emma gave this little cry and pulled a piece of parchment from her gown. She looked at it and then went running for the back door. We all followed and just as she Apparated, Art threw himself at her and touched her with his wand for a string trail."

"No!" Ron shouted.

Hermione clasped a hand to her forehead. "How could he be so stupid?"

Ron turned to her, "Is Emma strong enough to Apparate both of them?"

Hermione rubbed her forehead. "I don't know. She's not weak, but I don't know that she could pull off something like that, especially if she didn't know ahead of time."

"Bloody hell!" Ron cursed. "She could lose him then."

"We need a locator spell," Hermione said. She looked down at the linens clutched over her breasts. "Let me get dressed. Get the maps, I'll meet you in my study."

Ron nodded and started downstairs. "Go home boys."

Hermione quickly threw on a dressing gown, grabbed her wand and ran down to her study. Ron was already spreading out a map of England on her desk.

While Hermione cast the spell, Ron started pacing. He was surprised to see Harry appear at the door of the study a few moments later with a broom in his hand.

"Harry?" Ron said.

Hermione looked up.

"Ginny's on her way. The boys told us what happened. We thought you might need help looking."

"This map isn't detailed enough," Hermione complained. "It just tells me he's in London." She pushed it off the desk on to the floor and began going through the other maps in her study. "London, I have to have a bloody map of London," she muttered and began pulling through things, leaving piles of books and papers haphazardly on the floor. "Yes!" she shouted and spread a road map of London out on the desk.

Ginny walked in with her broom in hand as Hermione cast the Locator spell.

Everyone watched as her wand hovered above the map.

"Bloody hell," Hermione muttered.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "Why isn't it settling on a location?"

"Art's blocking me. He's cast an obfuscation spell." She glared at the map. "Surely, he doesn't think I can't crack this."

"I'm sure he knows that," Harry said.

"Then maybe that's not why he cast it," Ginny said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"You think this is his way of asking us not to interfere," Hermione answered.

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe. He is of age. Why do you think they popped off, do you think they might be eloping or something?"

Hermione sighed. Talking over each other, she and Ron explained the situation with Emma and her parents and her youngest sister.

Ron stared down at the map. "Damn it."

"Well," Hermione said quietly, "at least we know he's safe, wherever he is, because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to cast the charm." She took her wand back from above the map and put it in the pocket of her dressing gown. She neatly folded the map and set it back in the drawer where she'd found it. "I'm going to make some tea." She walked off toward the kitchen.

Ginny looked at Ron and Harry. "Well, since we don't need to mount a search, I'm going to go back home and talk with the boys. They were pretty shaken by all this."

Harry kissed her cheek. "I'll be with you in a tick." He turned back to Ron who was picking up books and papers and putting them back where they belonged. Harry helped him until the study was returned to its usual orderly mess.

"I'm having a hell of a time here, Harry." Ron said. "I can't seem to catch a break. If it's not one of them, it's the other. Do you think Art and Hermione sit around plotting ways to put me in an early grave?"

Harry chuckled. "No more than Ginny and my boys do."

Ron flopped into one of the wing chairs in front of Hermione's desk. "He's just like her, you know."

Harry shook his head. "No, there's a good bit of you in Art as well."

"He's always got his head in a book. Now he's gone off to try and save this damn girl."

"Oh, yes, because Hermione is the only one who ever tried to save anyone."

Ron looked up at him sharply. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Harry challenged. "Tell the truth? I thought you were sick of secrets."

"That's no secret. I just don't want to talk about it."

"Yes," Harry frowned, "and that's been the problem all along hasn't it?"

Ron glowered at him.

"Fine," Harry said, standing. "I'm going home." He pointed at Ron's beard where a long scar ran the length of his jaw. "But he's as much your son as he is hers and a fine man he is too. You should be proud."

"Yeah," Ron said, running a hand down his face. "I am. I just wish he'd get back here."

Harry clasped Ron's shoulder. "He will. I'll see you later."

Ron nodded. He got up and followed Harry into the parlor and watched as he took the Floo home. Ron sighed and lit the fire and sat down in his old leather club chair to wait until Art returned.

A few minutes later, Hermione came in with a tray with a tea service and tinned biscuits dumped on to a plate. She set it on the small table between their chairs.

"I didn't want to wake Winky. She's done so much work for the party these last few days, it didn't seem fair," she said as she poured a cup of tea for Ron and handed it to him. He sat sipping his tea and watching the fire while Hermione drank her own tea and nervously downed several biscuits. He marveled that she hadn't put any weight back on.

_She was in Bulgaria. The Death Eaters had them surrounded. Something was wrong. It wasn't her and Viktor, but her and Ron, and Art was there as well. This time it wasn't Viktor left bleeding in the streets but Ron, his face torn open, she could see the white of his jawbone. Before she could run to him, they snatched Art, not seventeen-year-old Art, but infant Artie. Hermione ran after him but there was only darkness and then pain, terrible pain._

She started forward in her chair, gulping for breath.

"You alright?" Ron asked looking up from the fire.

"Yes," Hermione gasped. "I must have dozed off for a moment. Nightmare." She pressed her hand to her chest and took slow deep breaths.

Ron poured her some tea. Her hands trembled as she took it.

He watched her as she sipped her tea and tried to school her thoughts. Several minutes passed.

"If he comes back with Emma and her sister," Ron said, "we should take them in, until Emma can get settled in the flat."

Hermione nodded. "Alright." She paused and said, "I hope Art doesn't leave school over this."

"I don't think he will," Ron said, "as long as we're supportive of Emma and her sister. If we're not--"

"He'll feel like she needs rescuing," Hermione finished for him.

Ron pursed his lips and nodded.

They sat in silence for a long time before Ron said, "When they took you in Bulgaria, did they use Crucio?"

Hermione nodded without looking at him.

"It's awful, isn't it?"

She looked at him, but he was staring at the fire. "Yes," she said quietly.

"Is that why you lost the baby?"

She put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

"I guess Viktor took it hard."

Hermione didn't say anything.

"At least he was there for you."

There was a long pause before she said, "Actually, Viktor was hurt pretty badly. He was in hospital. Todor came and got me. I stayed with him until Viktor was released. He was very kind to me."

"Oh," Ron said. He thought for a moment, piecing things together, doing the math. "I guess that makes sense then."

"What?"

"I always wondered why you would consent to vacation with him after what happened in Amsterdam. And why it was so important for you to go to his funeral."

Hermione closed her eyes again and nodded.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Ron pondered what she didn't say. "Come here," It was a firm but gentle command.

Reluctantly, Hermione got to her feet and stood in front of him. She wasn't sure she could stand anymore chastising tonight. He surprised her by taking her hand and pulling her down into his lap. She curled up against him and he tucked her head under his chin. "Art will be fine," he said. "And we'll get through this."

She nodded and pressed her face against his chest as they waited there together for Art to come home.


	41. Of Muggles and Magic

Chapter 41: Of Muggles and Magic

Ron stirred awake at the sound of the front door opening. His leg was asleep. Hermione was still curled in his lap. Her dressing gown was gaping just a little more than was decent. He realized that neither of them had showered nor cast a cleaning charm since being awoken several hours ago. Hermione's hair looked something large and wild had been nesting in it and he was sure his was sticking out in multiple directions. Art walked in just as he was sliding Hermione off his lap so he could reach his wand.

"Dad?" Art said, clearly surprised at their appearance.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ron grunted as he lifted Hermione, who awoke at the movement.

"Art?" she said, straightening her dressing gown and getting to her feet.

Art held up his palms. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know you must be furious, and I respect that, but Emma has just had what is probably the worst night of her life and I'd like to take her upstairs and get her settled before you yell at me."

Ron looked at Hermione and she looked back. "Alright," Ron said gruffly.

Art went back out to the foyer and they saw him take Emma upstairs. His arm was around her and she seemed to be leaning quite heavily against him.

Hermione shook her head. "I bet he rehearsed that speech all the way here."

Ron nodded.

"I'm going to go clean up," Hermione said. "I'm sure I look a fright."

Ron grinned.

"Shut it," she said smiling back.

He chuckled. "I'll go up with you."

A few minutes later, clean and dressed, they sat at the kitchen table waiting for Art to come down. Winky had woken when they entered the kitchen. Ron asked for coffee and Chelsea buns. Art appeared a few minutes later.

Hermione thought he looked much older than his seventeen years. He was still dressed in his formal robes, but they were in disarray and one side was all dusty.

He sat down heavily in the chair opposite Ron and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I put her to bed, but I don't expect she'll sleep."

"What happened?" Hermione asked. "I assume you were at her parent's house, but I see you didn't come back with her sister."

Art seemed to deflate. "It was bloody awful." He took a sip of coffee. "Her parents were in a screaming row when we got there. Of course, I was off balance and slid in on the floor. Then her father turned on us. He wanted to know who the bloody hell I was and what the hell we were doing there. Emma said she was there for June and then the row really started."

"I don't understand, I thought she was supposed to go get her sister," Ron said.

Art shook his head. "Well, apparently no one bothered telling her father that. Then the Ministry team showed up and it just got worse."

"The Ministry?" Hermione said. "What were they doing there?"

"It seems they have a new department to handle magical children born to Muggle parents, you know, to help the Muggles cope and to help the kids assimilate. It's really not a bad idea when you think about it."

"Yeah," Ron said. "Surprising coming from the Ministry."

Hermione gave him a withering look.

"Anyway, that's when Emma's mum really started going mental."

"Her mum?" Hermione said. "I thought it was her father that had the problem with magic."

"Yeah," Art said, "That's what Emma thought as well, but it turns out that's not exactly true."

"What do you mean by not exactly?" Ron asked.

"Well, when the Ministry fellows started explaining how they could help the Silsburys deal with June's powers, Mr. Silsbury was all ears, but Mrs. Silsbury said it couldn't be done and that Emma had to take June."

"Why? Why would she say that?" Hermione asked, shocked by the implication.

"Well, that's what Mr. Silsbury wanted to know. He said there was no way he was giving his five-year-old daughter to his seventeen-year-old daughter to raise when they could raise her themselves."

"Well, that's good then," Ron said.

"Yeah," Art sighed. "That's what I thought at first, but Emma seems to be taking it quite differently."

"But," Hermione said, "if they're more accepting of magic now, doesn't that make things better for her as well."

Art shook his head. "She feels betrayed. Things were said during all the shouting." He stared into his coffee cup. "It's pretty clear her mum lied to her dad about her. It seems like she told him they didn't have a choice but to give Emma to her grandparents. It was bloody awful. When that came out, Emma--well, she took it real hard."

"I can imagine she would," Hermione said. She put her hand on Art's arm. "I'm so sorry."

"Right now," he said quietly. "She's not really thinking straight. I'm hoping she'll see things clearer in the morning."

Ron put his hand on Art's shoulder. "Let us know if there's anything we can do."

Art nodded. "Thanks." He sat quietly for a moment and then said. "Um, I'm really glad you're my parents."

Hermione could feel herself tear up. "We're happy you're our son," she said leaning over and kissing his cheek as Ron squeezed his shoulder.

"I should get back upstairs," Art said, standing. "Actually, do we have any dreamless sleep draught? Just in case she can't sleep."

Hermione nodded and got up. "It's in our bathroom cupboard. I'll walk up with you and get it."

Ron stood too. "I'm knackered. We should all get some sleep. It's past three."

When Art went into his bedroom he found Emma curled up on the floor next to the fireplace watching the flames. She had changed out of her elegant gown and into flannel pajamas. Her face looked freshly scrubbed and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Em?" Art approached cautiously. She had seemed very fragile ever since they left her parent's house.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, but then looked back at the fire without saying anything. Art decided to leave her be for the moment and went to the loo to clean up and change into his own pajamas.

When he came back into the bedroom, Emma was still staring at the fire. Art sat cross-legged on the floor beside her.

She looked at him and then at her hands. "This is going to sound stupid," she said. "But I was almost looking forward to having June."

"That's not stupid," Art said, although he was a bit surprised to hear it.

"It's just after the initial shock wore off, I kept thinking, if I had June, then at least I'd have some family, you know?"

Art nodded. "Sure."

"Now, I don't--I don't have anything. I don't belong anywhere. No one wants me." Her tears fell onto the hearth.

Art watched as the tiny wet circles evaporated from the warm brick. He took her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. "I want you," he said firmly. "And you belong here."

She tilted her head up and touched her lips to his. There was the briefest moment of doubt on his part as to whether they should be doing this, when she was so upset, but her lips and hands were persistent and he just didn't have that kind of willpower. Right before he entered her, he remembered to cast the contraception charm. He looked into her eyes before he said the words and there was an unspoken moment between them, an understanding, that one day they would build a family of their own.


	42. Not a Damn Thing

Chapter 42: Not a Damn Thing

Breakfast the next morning was more of a brunch since no one was up before ten o'clock. Ron and Hermione sat at the table reading _The Daily Prophet_ and talking quietly about Emma's options and speculating on what Art would do.

They were both surprised when Art came into the kitchen with Emma's hand firmly clasped in his.

The poor girl looked painfully embarrassed, but to her credit, she took the seat opposite Ron.

"Good morning," Art said with a false heartiness. He offered a section of _The Prophet_ to Emma who declined.

Winky tottered over to the table with tea for Art and Emma. "What would Master Artie and Miss have this morning?"

Art ordered eggs and toast for both of them. Hermione and Ron put down their papers. All four of them sat in awkward silence.

Finally, it was Emma that spoke. "I want to thank you for letting me stay here," she said quietly. "And for offering me the flat to take care of June, but as I'm sure Art has already explained, that won't be necessary now. I'm just going to go back to Hogwarts and finish up my N.E.W.T. levels."

Hermione put her hand on Emma's arm. "This certainly opens up a lot of options for you. Perhaps now you can--"

Emma shook her head. "Don't. It doesn't. I still don't have any money. It doesn't change that."

"But Emma," Hermione said. "In time, perhaps your parents--"

Emma looked up fiercely, "I'm not going back there. I'm never going back there." She blinked back tears.

Winky put the plates on the table in front of Art and Emma and refilled Ron and Hermione's teacups.

"Alright then," Hermione said softly, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Then the offer to work for me is still open," Ron said quickly. "If you want, you're still welcome to pull some shifts after school, learn the ropes."

Emma nodded but didn't look at him. "I'd like that."

Art frowned, but didn't say anything.

"And what about you, Art?" Ron said, obviously trying to put the conversation somewhere more comfortable. "What are your plans for after school? Coming to work with your old man?"

Art set his fork down. "Actually, a recruiter from the Ministry came to talk to me just before hols. I'm thinking of trying for Unspeakable."

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

Ron's fork clattered loudly against his plate and on to the floor. "What?"

Undeterred Art continued. "There's no guarantee I'll make it, of course, but I figure the magic I'll learn during the application process alone is worth the try."

Ron stood so quickly he knocked his chair over. He turned on Hermione and stuck his finger in her face. "This is your fault," he growled and stormed out of the room. 

"Ron!" Hermione cried after him. She turned to Art, "We're not done here," and hurried after Ron.

She found him in the parlor gripping the mantle so hard his knuckles were white. She closed the pocket doors that lead from the foyer into the parlor and it occurred to her that she wasn't sure she'd ever shut them before.

"Ron," she ventured. "I didn't--"

"Shut up." he said.

"This isn't my fault," she continued.

"Shut up!" he shouted turning toward her.

The look of rage on his face was so fierce she stepped back. "Ron," she whispered. "I didn't do this. Not this."

"Of course you did," he spat. "You encouraged him all along."

She shook her head. "I didn't!"

"Oh, please!" he shouted. "You let him play with your wand before he could even speak. You completely ignored underage wizard laws. It was fine for other people's children, but Art was special."

"You don't think Art's special? He's ours, Ron. Of course he's special. And you were the one who had him on a broom before he could even walk."

"But he's not trying out for professional Quidditch now is he?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "That's completely unfair."

"Oh, that's right," Ron sneered. "Professional Quidditch players are no big deal for you."

She winced, but ignored the jab. "I did not encourage this!"

"Of course you did! You always let him read anything he could reach in your library."

Hermione threw up her hands in frustration. "I was supposed to stifle his curiosity?"

"He was taller than you before he was fifteen! Do you really think a height requirement was all that was necessary for some of those books?"

"Why haven't you expressed these oppressive opinions before now?" Hermione glared at him.

"Because I didn't realize I was in danger of losing him before!" Ron shouted.

"Losing him?"

Ron turned away from her. "Maybe it's easier for you," he muttered. "I've never lost a child."

"What?" she gasped.

Ron wouldn't look at her. "You heard me."

Hermione's wand was in her hand without conscious thought. The windows rattled. The fire in the fireplace swelled and roared. She blinked back tears.

"You take that back." Her voice trembled. "Take. It. Back."

Ron wouldn't face her.

She stood there for a long moment waiting for him. Then she gave up. "I had no idea you could still be so cruel."

She fled the room and Ron sank to his knees.

"Mum?" Art called after her. The slamming of the front door shot through Ron like a hex.

It had been a long time since Hermione had gone into the Muggle bar at the end of their street. She didn't want to be anywhere she might be recognized; so staying out of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade seemed imperative.

She looked around before transfiguring her robes into appropriate Muggle attire and pushed open the heavy red oak door and found a table in the back not too far from the fire. She dug a nail into the already scarred tabletop and waited for someone to take her order.

A tall thin young man, in a black apron came over. "What'll you have, luv?"

Hermione looked up at him. "Whiskey please."

"What sort, Miss?"

Hermione almost said 'Ogden's' before catching herself. What had her father drank? "Jameson," she remembered.

He nodded and went back to the bar. A few moments later, he reappeared with a shot of whiskey and set it front of her.

_I should have ordered a double. _She looked up at him. "To save us both a lot of trouble, why don't you just bring me the bottle?"

He looked at her askance. "You got that many quid?"

Hermione glared at him as she snapped her fingers inside her jacket and set a stack of money on the table.

He grinned at her revealing several missing teeth. "Well, alright then."

It was an older, heavier man who returned with the bottle of Jameson. "Well, as I live and breath," he whispered and sat in the chair opposite her. "Is that little Hermione Granger?"

She stared at him. He seemed vaguely familiar. "Owen?"

He laughed. "That's right, luv. How've you been? I haven't seen you in here in, well, what's it been? Twenty years?"

Hermione nodded. "Maybe more. I was still a teenager last time I was in here. I'm surprised you recognized me. "

He laughed again. "I'd know that hair anywhere."

Hermione could feel herself blushing.

"Every Saturday morning, excepting when you was at school, Scotch eggs with your da."

Hermione could feel her eyes well up.

"A terrible loss that was."

Hermione nodded, suddenly wishing he would just leave the bottle and her alone.

"So what brings you back here?"

Hermione sighed. She decided there was no reason not to be honest. "I've had a row with my husband and needed," she looked around at the dark wood and bronze fixtures, "someplace familiar."

Owen looked at the bottle of Jameson's. "You're not driving."

Hermione shook her head. "No."

He frowned. "I don't know as I ought to let you have this."

She smiled at his protective statement. "I can handle my whiskey, Owen." _Especially Muggle whiskey_, she thought.

"Alright then, luv." He got up with a grunt.

Hermione poured herself another shot.

It was late in the afternoon and Harry was reading the paper in the parlor when Ron's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Ron?"

"I…can you come over?" Ron asked.

Harry sat forward in his chair. Something about Ron's voice and expression made him worry. "Yeah, I'll be there in a tick."

Ron's head disappeared.

"Ginny!" Harry called. "I'm going to see Ron, I'll be back later."

"Alright!" she shouted from the kitchen.

Harry went out to the garden, where it was beginning to snow, and Apparated. He appeared a few moments later in the alley next to Ron and Hermione's house.

The front door was unlocked so he let himself in. Art and Emma were standing in the kitchen visibly upset. Winky stood behind them woefully twisting a dishtowel in her tiny hands.

"What's happened?" Harry asked.

"Mum and Dad had a row. Mum left a while ago and Dad won't come out of the parlor."

Harry frowned. "Any idea what the row was about?"

Art pushed his fingers through his hair. "Me." He explained about wanting to be an Unspeakable.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Alright then, well, why don't you two go out for a bit and let me talk to your Dad."

"What about Mum?"

"One thing at a time, Artie," Harry said. He waited until Art and Emma left before knocking on the parlor door. "Ron?"

Ron opened the door and Harry thought he looked terrible. "What's happened?"

"She left," Ron said in a choked voice.

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face. "Ron, I don't…"

"I need you to find her," Ron pleaded.

"How long has she been gone? She probably just needs to cool off."

Ron shook his head. "It's been hours. I thought she'd come back. But she didn't, so I started checking around. She's gone. I can't find her." There was a note of panic in his voice that made Harry uncomfortable.

"You two have rowed before--"

"But she's never left, well except…" He tugged at his beard and sat down suddenly on the ottoman. "What've I done?"

Harry sat in the chair opposite him, now concerned himself. "What have you done? What did you say to her?"

Ron shook his head. "It's been such a bloody awful month, what with the accident and having to call Viktor and those bloody memories and that fucking article. I just…I've been taking it from all sides from her. Then this Unspeakable business with Artie. Damn it." He sank his face into his hands.

"Tell me that you didn't go mixing up the past and the present. Tell me you didn't blame this on her," Harry said, suddenly far more concerned than he was a few moments ago.

"Course I did!" Ron shouted. "It's her bloody fault he's doing this."

Harry sat back against the chair and shook his head. "What did you say to her?"

"I said I couldn't stand losing him."

"Alright," Harry said, "but she wouldn't leave over that."

Ron stared at the fire.

"What else did you say, Ron?"

"I don't know why I said it," he said so quietly Harry could hardly hear him. "I don't know what came over me. I didn't mean it."

"What did you say?"

"I said that maybe it was easier for her, because I'd never lost a child."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"I don't think she's coming back."

Harry clasped a hand over his eyes. He couldn't really argue that one.

"You've got to find her, Harry. She's better, but she's still in no condition to be on her own. You've got to go get her. Please."

Harry sighed and stood up. He went into Hermione's study and pulled out the London street map. He figured he'd start in London and work his way out. This was Hermione. She could have Apparated anywhere in the world, although, he felt certain she wouldn't want to expend that kind of energy. "Please be in London," he muttered to the map as he cast the locator spell. He was shocked when his wand pinpointed the corner just one block from the house.

He walked back through the parlor.

"Did you find her?" Ron cried, standing.

"Yes. Stay here."

Harry walked back outside. The snow was falling in earnest now and the wind had picked up. He walked the block to the corner as quickly as he could. When he reached the red door of the pub, he paused a moment, cast a spell on his robes to blend in with the Muggles and went in. The pub was practically empty, with just a few football fans shouting at a television in the corner. It only took a moment to spot Hermione's curly mane. She was face down on a table in the corner next to the fire with an almost empty bottle of whiskey in front of her.

Harry started for her only to be stopped by a large man. "Can I help you, mate?"

Harry nodded at Hermione. "I'm here for her."

"And you would be?"

Harry was taken aback. When was the last time someone didn't recognize him? "I'm her brother-in-law. I'm just here to see she gets home safe."

The heavy man made a sucking noise with his teeth. "She's right pissed. Been here the better part of the day. Since we're so slow, I was letting her sleep it off."

"Thanks," Harry said, "but I can take it from here." He walked over to the table and leaned down. She reeked of whiskey. "Hermione?"

She rolled her head over and looked up at him through her hair. "Harry?"

"Come on, we're going to go home now."

"I'm not going back there," she said with a heavy slur.

"Then come back to my place. You can stay with Ginny and me."

She shook her head. "I'm too drunk to stay with you." She looked at the bottle in front of her. "I used to could hold my liqueur better. I only drank this one bottle and it's Muggle whiskey."

"One bottle is a lot of whiskey even if it is Muggle." Harry said. "Come on," he continued. "We need to go now."

Hermione struggled to her feet and Harry offered a steadying hand.

"Goodnight, Owen." Hermione called over her shoulder as they made their way out of the pub.

"You know what?" she said, lurching against him.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I revolutionized the way people learn to Apparate. And I found two more uses for dragon's blood, and I have published six books, two of which are now the definitive texts in their fields," she slurred.

"Yes," Harry said.

"And I have a raised a fine son, and taught countless other children our history, and I have successfully fought for more rights for magical creatures. Did you know I'm the probable next head of the…" It took her three tries to get out "Wizengamot."

Harry smiled. "I'd heard that rumor, yes."

"And do you know what all that means?"

Harry shook his head, very amused now. "What?"

"Not a damn thing, because once when I was twenty I got stoned and fucked two guys at a party and got pregnant." She leaned over and vomited into some shrubbery. Steadying herself with one hand against one of the trees lining the sidewalk, she looked up at Harry. "I will never live that down. I've killed people and suffered less for it. She slid down the trunk of the tree into the snow. Fuck Harry, where's the equity in that?"

He knelt next to her in the snow and pushed her hair back and wiped her face with his hand. "There is none."

She sat back against the tree and held her palms up. "See. I can't win."


	43. Abandonment Issues

Chapter 43: Abandonment Issues

Harry helped Hermione to her feet and continued back toward the house. The sidewalk had grown slippery and it was all he could do to keep her upright.

As they approached the front of the house, Hermione recoiled. "I'm not going back in there."

Harry stopped and held her by her shoulders. "Listen, I can't Apparate us both when you're this drunk. We have to go back in there. If you still don't want to be here when you sober up, you can stay with Ginny and me."

She wobbled on her feet for a moment mulling this proposition over. "Alright," she finally said, "but only 'til I'm sober."

"Right," Harry agreed and helped her up the stairs.

"I'm not sleeping with him," she announced as they reached the door. "I'll sleep in the guestroom. That's all he cares about anyway. I'm just a good shag, Harry, that's all."

"That's not all," Harry said.

"Yes, it is," she pulled away from him so hard she almost went careening back down the stairs.

Harry caught her around the waist and hauled her back, thankful that she wasn't a larger woman.

"That's been my problem all along," she continued as if she hadn't almost gone head first down the stairs. "Never say no to anything, no boundaries."

Harry got a good grip on her and reached for the door. "Do you cheat on Ron?"

Her mouth dropped open. "No," she gasped, "I never."

"Then you have boundaries." He opened the door and pulled her inside, stumbling and still mostly supporting her.

Ron was waiting inside. "Let me help," he said reaching for her.

"Don't you touch me," she growled fiercely.

Ron pulled his hand back. "Come on, Hermione, just let me help Harry get you upstairs."

"No, I'm fine. I can go upstairs by myself," she said lurching forward.

"I've got her," Harry said to Ron.

"Don't you touch me," Hermione muttered again. "I'm not talking to you. You don't know; you weren't there. I wanted her. I did want her. They took me and I couldn't stop them." Tears spilling over, she turned to Harry. "I couldn't stop them, Harry. I tried, but I couldn't. Even I can't hold a shield charm forever."

"I know," Harry said, surprised at the lump that had formed in his throat. "You did all you could. No one could expect any more." He started up the stairs with her.

"I expected more," she mumbled.

Harry felt his eyes sting. She was quiet until they reached the top of the stairs. "I'll stay in the guestroom," she said.

"Why don't you let Ron sleep in the guestroom," Harry said, feeling like Ron could sleep in the gutter for all he cared.

"No," Hermione insisted. "I'm not sleeping in his bed."

"Alright then," Harry said sighing. The guestroom was all the way at the end of the hall.

"How could he think I'd want anything bad to happen to Artie? I love Artie."

"I know you do," Harry said, adjusting his grip.

"I love Artie," Hermione repeated. "He was the only one I could have. I know Ron wanted more. Do you think he hates me because I couldn't have more?"

"No," Harry said. "I don't think he hates you at all."

"He does," she insisted. "Because I'm a slag, a worthless slag."

"No you're not," Harry said.

"I am," she said, sinking a bit.

Harry hauled her back up to her feet. "You're not a slag. Slags don't have nearly twenty years of faithful marriage. That's just not possible." He was relieved when this seemed to give her pause for thought.

They managed to make it the rest of the way down the hall and into the guestroom where Harry gratefully dropped her on to the bed. He went into the loo and took the dustbin and set it next to her. He pulled off her shoes and socks and rolled her over on to her stomach in case she vomited again and then pulled a blanket over her. He swept her hair out of her face. "You're going to be alright," he said, but she had passed out. When Harry stood up, Ron was standing in the door.

Harry glared at him. "You're an ass, you know that?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you have any hangover potion? Because she's going to need a bucket of it."

"I'll go check."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed next to Hermione and tried to decide what he should do.

"It looks like we're out." Ron said, as he came back into the room. "I think she gave the last of it to Artie for Emma after the Quidditch match."

Harry stood. "I'll pop out and get some."

"Thanks, Harry. You're a brick."

"Yeah, well you're a prick, and I'm so angry right now I could hex you into next week."

Ron had the decency to look chagrined.

"I'll be back."

Ron walked with Harry back down to the foyer; neither of them said anything.

He paced around in the kitchen until Harry came back. He came through the front door, dusting snow from his shoulders, and handed Ron three small bottles.

"Thanks," Ron muttered without looking him in the eye.

"She didn't want to come back here, but I couldn't Apparate us both with her in that state."

Ron nodded.

"I just want you to understand I wouldn't have brought her back here, if I could have avoided it."

Ron nodded again.

"I told her she could stay with Ginny and me as soon as she sobers up. I meant that. She can stay with us forever for all I care."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Ron grumbled.

"Yes, let's, but I'll tell you this, Ron, I won't abandon her again." Harry said grimly.

Ron surprised him by whispering, "Good."

Somewhat deflated, Harry ran his fingers through his already untidy hair. "I'm coming back in the morning. Do you think you can manage not to make this worse until then? Or do I need to owl Ginny and tell her I'm staying here?"

Ron shook his head. "No sense in all of us sleeping alone. I'll behave. She's likely down for the count anyway."

Harry shook his head, pulled out his wand and walked out the front door. Ron closed it behind him. He heard the toilet flushing upstairs. He sprinted up two steps at a time, hoping to catch her, but when he got to the guestroom, the door was not only closed, it was locked with a charm.

Ron closed his eyes. "Don't do this," he whispered to the door. He knocked. "Hermione. Come on, Hermione, let me in." There was only stony silence from the other side.

Ron sank to his knees and rested his forehead against the door. "I didn't mean it," he whispered.

It was late when Art and Emma arrived back at the house. They were trying to be quiet going up the stairs when Emma caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye.

"Art?" she said, pausing on the second floor landing.

Art looked down the hall. "Dad?" he asked, walking toward his father, who was sitting on the floor outside the guestroom with his back against the door.

He looked up at Art.

"What's happened?"

Ron looked at Emma who was further down the hall. He sniffed. "Your mum's back."

"She's staying in the guestroom?" Art guessed.

"Right."

"Maybe you should go to bed, Dad."

Ron shook his head. "No, I'm alright. I'm just going to sit here for awhile."

Art stared at him, unsure of what he should do.

"Come on, Art," Emma called softly from down the hall.

Art turned and looked at her. He looked back at his father. "If you need anything, give a shout, yeah?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah."

Upstairs, Art undressed mechanically. Finally, he sat on the bed, his shirt half off. "I don't understand," he said hollowly.

Emma looked at him and sighed. She took his shirt and finished pulling it off.

"They've had a row, Art. I'm sure it will be fine." She moved her hand to his belt.

Art shook his head. "They've never rowed like this before. I've never seen either one of them storm out. I've never known them to sleep apart. I don't understand. All this because I want to be an Unspeakable."

Emma tugged on his belt and Art stood. "It's possible it's about more than just that." She slid his pants off until they pooled at his feet. He stepped out of them and looked at her, confusion etched in his features.

"Well," Emma said, sitting back on her haunches. "There was that gossip column."

"No," Art said, shaking his head. "Dad knows that was rubbish."

Emma shrugged. "People get angry for all sorts of reasons, Art. Try not to fret about it. I'm sure they'll work it out in the morning." She leaned forward onto her knees and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. "Now let's see what I can do to get you sorted," she smiled at him before covering his length with her mouth.

Art let out a low moan and decided Emma was probably right. Everything would be better in the morning.


	44. Sleeping Alone

Chapter 44: Sleeping Alone

Emma was nestled warm against him with her back tight against his belly. The heat of their bodies made her skin slick against his. Art didn't want to wake up, didn't want to move, but there was something, something pulling him forward from a sound sleep.

Screaming.

Art rolled backward out of bed, displacing Emma as he did so. She came up on one elbow and they both heard it.

Screaming.

He was pulling his pajama bottoms on and calling his wand at the same time. He nearly fell over struggling to the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma pulling on her dressing gown.

Screaming.

Their footsteps were thunderously loud on the stairs, but over it Art could hear his dad pounding on the guestroom door and bellowing his mother's name.

Screaming.

Then spells. Unlocking spells, more pounding and bellowing.

Screaming.

Art turned the corner onto the second floor landing and saw his father point his wand at the door. He looked up to see Art running toward him. There was a loud thud.

"Help me," Ron called.

Art had his wand up. Emma slid in beside him, her wand raised. "On three," Art said. The countdown, and then the door blew in.

His dad practically fell into the room. On the floor, his mother lay tightly constricted in a blanket, struggling to free herself, moaning, clearly still mostly asleep and panicking. His father was on his knees, pulling at the blanket.

"I've got you. I've got you. It's alright, I've got you."

His mother was crying now. "No. You can't, you can't. Stop! I've already lost my family. Don't! Please, no." She sobbed, doubled over with her arms clutched tightly around her middle.

Art was shocked to hear a choked sob come from his father. "I'm so sorry. Please…"

He felt Emma's hand tugging on his arm. "Art? Art, come on, Art, we shouldn't be here. Art?" She was pulling and he followed, his eyes locked on his parents until Emma had pulled him far enough down the hall that he couldn't see them anymore.

He followed her numbly up the stairs until she put him in bed and crawled in next to him.

He lay on his back staring at the ceiling. "Bloody hell, what was that about?"

Emma pressed her face against his chest. "I don't know," she whispered.

Ron was still trying to free Hermione from the blanket when she started to struggle against him.

"Get off me, get off me!"

"Hermione, it's alright, it's me."

"Get off me, Ron!" she spat at him. Finally disentangling herself, she crawled away from him and sat in the corner of the room, panting.

Ron sat back on the floor, his hands dropping to his sides. He was hoping somehow that pulling her from the nightmare would be cause enough for her to forgive him.

"How did you get past my locking charm? I wasn't that drunk."

"Well, it took all three of us," Ron grumbled.

"All three? All three! You pulled Art and Emma into this?" She pressed her palms tightly against her forehead. "How could you?"

Ron glared at her. "I didn't pull them anywhere. You were screaming your bloody head off; you woke the whole house."

"Fantastic," she muttered. "That's just great."

"Well next time Imperturb the door then, don't just lock it."

They sat in angry silence.

"I didn't realize they knew you were pregnant," he couldn't look at her.

She pressed the back of her head against the wall. "I was five months along, it was pretty obvious once they took my clothes."

Ron looked up sharply. "They took your--"

She knocked the back of her head against the wall. "Don't, please. I can't, Ron. It's too hard. I just can't." She let her head fall back against the wall again and drew in slow deep breaths.

"You want some hangover potion?" Ron asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Wouldn't do any good. I'm still drunk."

"Oh," he raked his fingers through his beard, unsure of what to do now, so he waited.

"It's not my fault our son is smart. It's not my fault he's curious and ambitious. And even if it was, I'm not apologizing for it. I couldn't be more proud of him."

"Well, that's just bloody great for you then."

"That being said," Hermione continued as if he hadn't said anything. "I don't want him to be an Unspeakable any more than you do."

"So what are we going to do about it then?" Ron asked.

Hermione gave him a fierce, hard look. "We're going to be loving and supportive and helpful, because he's our son and he wants this. And if we happen to secretly hope he doesn't get it, then we'll keep that completely to ourselves."

Ron shook his head. "I don't think I can stand it."

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Ron, I don't think he'll make the cut. It's not like everyone does. As a matter of fact, sometimes years go by without anyone being offered a position. At any given time, there are no more than about twenty Unspeakables working. That's out of the entire magical population."

"But they recruited him."

"Of course they did. He's my son. Although they didn't bother to mention to me that they were going to approach him. Bastards. You wait until I see Thomas Greene again."

"But you said it yourself, he's your son. He likely will make it then."

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. Art's not me, Ron. He already sees trying for Unspeakable as just a good career move. He's not obsessed with getting the job. His life is far more balanced than mine was when I was going through the application process."

"Wouldn't that be an advantage for him?"

Hermione laughed. "Heavens no. This isn't the sort of job one can pursue casually, but the trials will be good for him. He'll learn a lot of magic and a lot of discipline he wouldn't otherwise have the opportunity to experience. And he's absolutely right, it'll serve him well no matter what field he ultimately goes into."

"Fine, that's settled then."

"Not quite. Should he make it, I don't want to hear about it being my fault. If he gets the job, he gets it on his own merits because he wanted it. He's a grown man, he has a right to chose his own future." She paused and put her palms flat on either side of her. "I wish the floor would stop spinning."

Ron chuckled. Only Hermione could hold erudite discourse while the room spun in her head.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"You. You're the smartest drunk I know."

"Yes, well, I'm starting to remember why I stopped drinking in the first place."

Ron stood up and held out his hand toward her, "Come on, lets go to bed."

She looked at his hand but didn't take it. "I don't think so. I'm just going to sleep in here."

"Come on, please."

"Don't. Don't do that. Earlier today you used one of the worst things that's ever happened to me against me in an argument. Better yet, you managed to imply I don't love our son as much as you do in the same sentence." She huffed bitterly. "You wonder why I didn't just tell you everything up front. Well, that's why, Ron."

He knelt in front of her. "But I'm sorry. I told you I was sorry. I didn't mean it. You know I don't really think that."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm glad you're sorry. You should be. And I'm glad you came to that conclusion so quickly, but don't think that means I'll recover just as fast."

He sat back on his heels and stared at the floor. "Does that mean you're going to Harry and Ginny's?"

She closed her eyes. "I don't know yet. But I'm telling you, this is going to take time and I need for you not to push me."

Ron nodded. "Alright then." He sighed. "Well, I guess I'll go to bed. Do you need anything?"

"Would you put the hangover potion on the bedside table?"

"Sure." He stepped into the hall to retrieve the bottles and set them on the nightstand. "Anything else?"

She shook her head.

Ron walked slowly back down the hall to their bedroom wondering how long he'd be sleeping alone.


	45. Small Favors

Chapter 45: Small Favors

Art lay on his back staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Emma was nestled against him and sound asleep. Sunlight had started filtering in through the window. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. Six o'clock. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he was wide-awake, the events of last night on a repeating loop in his head. When he'd first realized that New Year's Eve was going to be on a Thursday, he'd been pleased because it meant not having to go back to school until the following Monday. Now he wanted nothing more than to be back in his room at Hogwarts.

He looked at Emma. He still hadn't talked to her about what McGonagall had said about the nature of their relationship. He wondered if she'd believe him.

His stomach growled. He extricated himself from Emma and pulled on his dressing gown and went downstairs. His parents were both at the table hidden behind their newspapers. He had despaired that it was the weekend and Winky wouldn't be cooking, so he was surprised to find his father having a full English and his mother sipping tea with only a half eaten piece of dry toast in front of her.

Winky was happily pouring more tea into his father's cup.

"Morning, Master Artie, what can I gets for you?"

"I'll have what Dad's having. Why are you cooking?"

Winky looked at Hermione. "Miss relented."

Art sat down next to his mother. "You relented?"

Hermione lowered her newspaper. "Sometimes you have to."

Now that he'd spoken to her, Art felt compelled to bring up last night, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. "How are you feeling?" was what he settled on.

"Fine," his mother said, and took a bite of her toast.

Winky appeared with Art's breakfast and poured him some tea. Before tucking into his eggs and sausage he tried another tack. "I'm sorry about the door to the guestroom. I can fix that after breakfast."

Ron lowered his paper. "Already taken care of."

"Thanks for the offer, though," Hermione added.

Art took a bite of sausage and chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. Finally, he couldn't let it go. "Is there…is there something I should know about?"

His parents looked at each other. "No," they both said at the same time.

Art frowned. "I'm not a child, you know."

Hermione smiled gently. "This isn't an issue of maturity, Arthur. It's an issue of privacy. As an adult you should understand that."

Art nodded. It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he did understand it. He looked over at Winky who was standing on a stool waving her hand over the cooking dishes to clean them.

"Winky?" Art asked. "Have you put on weight?"

"Arthur!" Hermione hissed.

"What? Doesn't she look bigger to you?"

Winky turned and graced them all with a vast grin. "Winky is pregnant, Master Artie, sir."

"What?" Ron and Hermione said in unison.

"Winky is pregnant," the elf announced again triumphantly.

"Who's the father, Winky?" Art asked.

"Arthur!" Hermione hissed again.

"What?" Art said, looking at his mum. "Don't you want to know?"

"Dobby, sir." Winky said proudly.

"Dobby?" Ron asked. "I didn't realize you two were a couple."

"A couple, sir?" Winky said with a confused expression on her face.

"Well, you are having a baby with him," Art said.

His mother glared at him in exasperation.

"Yes," Winky said beaming.

"Well, if you're not a couple, then how…who's idea was this?"

"Mine, sir, but to Dobby's credit he was thinking about it too."

"Thinking about it?" Ron croaked.

"Yes, with Master Artie and Master Clive both graduating at the same time, we knew it was time to have a family."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. "You're having a baby for Art?"

"And Master Clive. It is twins, Miss."

Hermione's eyes widened and she stood up abruptly. She looked at Ron. "I'm going to leave you to deal with this matter," she turned on her heal but stopped at the entrance to the foyer. "Art, I want to see you in my study when you've finished breakfast." Then she hurried from the room.

Art looked at his father and took another bite of sausage.

"So, Winky," Ron said. "How is this going to work?"

Hermione sat down at her desk, she considered going over her notes for the book on healing balms, but set them aside after just a cursory glance. She pulled a blank piece of parchment toward her and began to compose a letter to Harry.

Dear Harry,

I am so sorry about last night. I deeply appreciate

you coming to my rescue, but I'm deeply ashamed

that you had to. Thank you also for your offer to let

me stay with you and Ginny, but in the sober light

of morning, I see that won't be necessary. Ron and I

no longer argue very often, but when we do we seem

to make up for the lack of frequency with ardent

nastiness. Still, ultimately, I think our love is deeper

than our vitriol. We will be fine. I promise. We should

all get together soon. Love to you always,

Hermione

She was giving the letter to an owl to take to Harry, when there was a knock at the door.

She sent the owl on its way. "Come in, Art, have a seat."

He sat in one of the wing chairs in front of her desk.

"I wanted to talk to you about the Department of Mysteries," she said, taking a seat behind her desk.

Art shook his head. "Mum, if you're going to try and discourage me--"

"I'm not," Hermione said. "But I do want to talk to you about it a bit."

Art blew out a frustrated breath. Clearly he didn't believe her.

"First off, when did you figure it out?"

"What?" Art asked.

"That I'm one."

He pressed his thumb into the leather of the chair. "Not long ago. Actually, not until they approached me. And even then I wasn't entirely sure, but it does explain a lot."

Hermione nodded. "That's part of the problem."

"What problem?"

"The secrets. By nature an Unspeakable lives in a culture of secrets. It's hard, sometimes painful, especially when it spills into your personal life."

"How do you mean?"

"It can effect the simplest of things, like you can never share your day with your loved ones. That may not seem like a big deal to you now, but year after year never being able to share your accomplishments or seek solace for your failures takes its toll."

"But I do know your accomplishments. I know about String Apparition and the two new uses for dragon's blood."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, because those were both released to the public for their benefit, but do you honestly think those are the only things I've done?"

"Well, no, but…" he frowned. "It's important work though, there must be a great deal of satisfaction in that."

"Of course there is. If there wasn't, I would have stopped ages ago."

"But you did stop," Art argued. "You were at Hogwarts, and before that you were home with me."

Hermione smiled again. "I went part-time a long ago. I never really stopped. I know you must have noticed I'd be gone often for weeks at a time."

"But you came back," Art said as though that was all that mattered.

"Yes, I came back, often the worse for wear, and I couldn't tell your father what I'd been doing. That was very hard on him. Really it was hard on both of us because I wanted to tell him."

"Why couldn't you? Clearly, he knows you're an Unspeakable."

Hermione smiled sadly. "Of course he knows. Actually, all the adults in the family know, but that doesn't free me up to tell them exactly what I do."

Art pondered that for a moment.

"I'm telling you this because your father is concerned about your safety." She sighed. "It can be a dangerous job, but his experiences with me have given him an exaggerated idea of just how dangerous it is. To be honest, I never should have been given the job. When you've been cursed, scarred the way I have, channeling large volumes of magic is rather painful."

Art narrowed his eyes, clearly confused. "Why would you do it then? Why would they even let you have the job?"

"They let me have it because I could do it, and so few people can that they weren't going to turn me down. As for why I took it, that's rather more complicated."

"Complicated how?" Art asked.

Hermione sized him up, trying to remember what he knew already and how much he was ready to hear. "I think," she said finally, "that at the time, I needed to prove that I wasn't broken. That I could still be valuable."

"But you were a war hero."

Hermione chuckled. "Funny that. I never felt like one."

"So you took the job to prove yourself. I can understand that."

She smiled. "I'm sure you can, but I stayed because the job is so engrossing. It's fascinating work that can completely absorb your days, your nights, whole weeks at a time. There really isn't anything else like it." She smiled. "Actually, I was in America one time and I saw this poster for something the Muggles call Peace Corp. The caption said, _The toughest job you'll ever love_. I thought that was just like being an Unspeakable so I took it and it's still hangs in my office at the Department of Mysteries."

"And yet," Art said slowly, "I still feel as though you don't want me to do this."

Hermione shook her head. "No. I want you to do what you want to do, but I just wanted to make sure you understood the cost, because there is definitely a cost, Art. You seem rather serious about Emma, and I want you to understand that if you do this, it will cost her too. That's all."

He sat with his chin on his fist for a minute just staring at her desk. "Well, he said finally, rising from his chair. "You've given me a lot to think about."

Hermione nodded.

"And thanks," Art said, smiling.

"For what?"

"For not just saying 'no' and throwing a fit."

Hermione laughed softly. "That's your father's job, dear."

As she watched Art leave, Hermione thought again about that trip to America. It was the last trip she and Viktor took before they broke up. It was late in October and Puddlemere United was doing an exhibition tour of the U.S. starting in Miami against a Texas team called the Sweetwater All-Stars.

Viktor had been pestering her to come to America since neither of them had ever been, and Miami was supposed to be a fantastic city. Hermione had finished the project she'd been working on for the Department of Mysteries and had plenty of leave, so at the last minute she made a Portkey and joined him in South Beach. Since it was a Muggle hotel, she landed on the roof and just walked down the stairs to his room.

"Hey," Viktor had said as he yanked open the door. He held a beer in one hand and pulled her in with the other. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it. We were just about to hit the clubs. Ohh," he said, holding her at arm's length. "This outfit won't do. And you'll need to do something about your hair."

Hermione looked down at her traditional, charcoal gray robes. She sighed. "Give me fifteen minutes."

She took the beer from his hand and began drinking it as she walked into the loo. She locked the door and opened the small bag she'd brought with her. She got undressed and stared at her body in the wall-sized mirror in the bathroom. She started by re-casting the charm to cover her scars. Then she cast a full body tanning charm. She slipped into a short skirt and a bikini top. She cast the familiar charms to slick down her hair the way Viktor liked it and pulled it into a French twist. For fun, she cast a charm on her breasts to make them look a bit bigger and downed the rest of the beer. "Show time," she said to the mirror, and was relieved when it didn't respond.

An hour later, she found herself with the entire Puddlemere United team and most of the Sweetwater All-Stars doing body shots in a crowded South Beach dance club. She was laying on the bar and Oliver Wood had just licked salt off of her collar bone and was using his teeth to remove the shot glass of tequila from her cleavage when she turned her head and saw what looked exactly like George Weasley with his arms around another man, who was running his hand up his chest in what could only be described as an erotic manner. George looked up at that same moment and their eyes locked. Hermione's mouth dropped open causing the wedge of lime she'd been holding between her lips to hit the floor.

"Hey!" Oliver laughed. "I wanted that."

"Sorry," Hermione said, sitting up and sliding off the bar. "I've got to run to the loo." She could see George disentangling himself from the other guy. Viktor grabbed her hand as she started through the crowd.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione said, pulling away from him. "I just have to use the loo."

It was difficult to spot George with all the bodies moving to the pounding music and the strobe lights swirling and changing colors all around her. Finally, she caught sight of him moving toward the restrooms, but Hermione couldn't quite catch up to him. She just saw him as he exited through a back door. She pushed past the last of the throbbing crowd and hurried to the exit. He was waiting for her in the alley.

All the color had drained from his face and he was desperately trying to light a cigarette with his trembling right hand.

Hermione reached up and took the lighter from him and lit the cigarette. "Hello, George."

He took a deep drag. "Hermione," he said, blowing out the smoke without looking at her.

"George--" she started again.

"Please don't tell," he whispered and looked as if he might cry.

She shook her head. "I won't, if you won't."

He looked up at her. "What?"

"Come on, George. A story about me on a bar in America doing body shots would be worth a fortune to Rita Skeeter. Twice as much if you got pictures."

He frowned at her. "I would never--"

"Of course, you wouldn't," Hermione said, resting her hand on his forearm. "Just like I wouldn't."

George nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry. I'm just not ready for anyone to know."

Hermione smiled. "Well, your secret's safe with me."

"And yours is safe with me."

Hermione shrugged. "I think it's a bit late for that. Everybody already knows about me."

George cocked his head. He looked back toward the door to the bar. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, I really do."

"Come on."

They walked down the alley toward the street. Hermione stopped just before they exited. "I'm sorry. I can't walk out there dressed like this."

George smiled at her. "This is South Beach, you could walk out there naked and no one would notice."

"Probably, but I feel like a slag dressed like this."

George looked at her and started unbuttoning his shirt. He handed it to her. "Then wear this."

The gesture was so totally Weasley that Hermione felt herself tear up. "Thanks, George."

He smiled. "That's why I wear an undershirt," he said running his hands over the thin, white tank top he was wearing, "just in case I meet a damsel in distress."

Hermione laughed as she pulled on his shirt. "Well, you look good."

"Thank you," he said, throwing his chest out and offering her his arm.

She took it and they walked down the sidewalk.

"Over here, they call these 'wife-beaters,'" he said, pointing to his undershirt.

"Really? Well, thank goodness we're not married then."

George laughed. "Yeah, lucky that."

That got them both started giggling from too much alcohol and the stress of the situation.

They walked on for a while, stumbling occasionally, leaning on each other, not really talking, just laughing. Finally, they found themselves in front of a 24-hour diner.

"Coffee?" Hermione asked.

"Definitely." George nodded.

They went in and Hermione winced at the bright fluorescent lights. They slid into an oversized booth.

A waitress walked over. "What can I get you?"

"Just coffee," Hermione said.

"Yeah," George said. "And a piece of cherry pie."

"Okay," the waitress said. A minute later she was back with their order.

"So what brings you to Miami?" Hermione asked.

"We have clients here," George said, sipping his coffee. "You?"

"Viktor. His team is doing an exhibition tour of the states."

"And how are things with you and Viktor?"

Hermione stared into her coffee cup. It had been ages since she'd seen George, but it was so comfortable to be sitting with him that she answered honestly. "I don't think I can keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"This," she said gesturing at herself. "I feel like I've got a split personality. Viktor and I--we just want different things."

"And what do you want?"

Hermione sighed. "I can't have what I want. But I can't do this anymore either."

George nodded. "Yeah, I'm in touch with that feeling."

"So does anyone know?"

"Fred."

"And how does he handle it?"

"Fine. Says he's known for a long time and was just waiting for me to tell him. He says not to worry, that he and Angelina are making up for me not having children."

Hermione chuckled. "That sounds like Fred."

"Yeah."

"So if Fred's alright with it, what makes you think the rest of the family wouldn't be?"

"I don't know. Can you see Ron being alright with me being a poof?"

Hermione looked away from him.

"I'm sorry. That still smarts doesn't it?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm fine. And to answer your question, I think he'd be surprised at first and then he'd get over it. You're his brother; he loves you." She turned the coffee cup in her hands. "How's he doing anyway? Is he seeing anyone?"

"Last I talked to him about it, he was seeing some healer, but he doesn't much like to discuss his relationships. Not since you."

Hermione took a sip of coffee to try and wash down the lump that had formed in her throat. "Well," she said casually, "I always knew he could do a damn sight better than me. I'm glad he's happy."

"I didn't say he was happy. I said he was seeing someone. It's not the same thing."

"Sure it is."

"You're seeing Viktor. Are you happy?"

Hermione rested her forehead on the table, suddenly exhausted. "No."

"Well, there you go then."

She sat up. "I should be going, actually." She slipped her wand from the narrow pocket along the seam of her skirt and passed it over a couple of napkins transforming them into American dollars. She left them on the table and George walked her back to the club. She took his shirt off and handed it to him before going back inside. "Thanks, George."

"Any time."

An owl flying into the window startled Hermione. She looked up and removed the parchment from its leg and gave it a treat. She unrolled the letter and sat down to read it.

Dear Hermione,

What are friends for? I knew you two would work

it out. You always do eventually. Yes, let's all get

together next week. Love to you both,

Harry

Ron knocked on the doorframe and Hermione looked up from the parchment.

"So, here's the rundown on Winky," he said without preamble.

Hermione dropped her head back against her desk chair. "She's killing me."

"Now, stop it," Ron said. "It's not really that bad."

"Really," she said, staring at the ceiling. "I've spent almost thirty years working for elf rights only to have the elf living in my house have a baby so my son can have a servant, how exactly is that not bad?"

Ron smiled. "I wouldn't think you'd begrudge her a family."

Hermione shot forward in her chair. "I don't begrudge her a family."

"Good," Ron said. "Because she's very excited about it."

"How is it exciting to hand your babies over to two teenagers?" Hermione said, horrified.

"Well, they won't be babies when they go to live with Art and Clive."

"How's that?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Ron said, exasperated. "For someone who claims to care so much about house elves you certainly know precious little about them."

Hermione frowned at him.

"For your information, she'll be having the babies in about three weeks and they'll be fully mature elves in just six months."

"Really? That's fast."

"Yes, but that's not all. Winky's never had a baby before."

"Alright."

"You don't understand. House elves don't have babies if they don't want to. In other words, this is quite an honor she's bestowing on Art. She must love him very much."

"Well, of course she loves him. She practically raised him," Hermione said softly.

"I'm just saying," Ron continued. "That you ought to be more grateful and more gracious."

Hermione nodded, feeling chagrined. "Of course."

"Now, I've reminded her that she has a real bedroom on the second floor, so that's where she'll have the babies and where she'll raise them."

"Alright then."

"And Dobby will be coming over to fulfill her duties while she's with the babies."

"He doesn't have to do that," Hermione said.

"Yes, he does," Ron said firmly.

"Ron, we can do without a house elf for six months."

Ron blew out a frustrated breath. "You don't understand. That's the father's job. That's how he shows support for his family. You can't deny Dobby that. It would be like emasculating him."

Hermione grimaced. "Oh, well, heavens, we wouldn't want to do that."

"I should think not," Ron said grimly.

"Alright fine, it'll be nice to have babies in the house anyway."

"Well," Ron said.

"What now?"

"We can't see them."

"They'll be living in our house, but we can't see them?"

"Right."

Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me guess, this is some house elf rule or code or something."

"Exactly."

"Fantastic, is there anything else."

"Not on this subject, no," said Ron.

"Good. Small favors and all that."

"About us."

Hermione sighed.

Ron continued. "I just want you to know, that I understand that you have needs, so even though you are justifiably very angry at me, I'm still willing to have sex with you."

He watched as she struggled to contain a smirk. "Well, that's very big of you, Ron."

"Just know that I'm here for you," he said, his voice dripping with sincerity.

"Well, thank you. If my needs become such that I am overwhelmed by the burden, I'll come to you straight away."

"You do that," he said, getting up from the chair.

He could hear her softly chuckling as he left the study. He smiled to himself. _She's starting to thaw_, he thought.

It was a couple of hours later when Hermione emerged from her study and tracked Ron down in his basement workshop.

She didn't venture into this space often, but she was amused by the odd bits of Muggle paraphernalia littered about the place. Ron was hunched over a table casting various charms on a small box.

Hermione knocked on the doorframe of the open door.

Ron looked up. "Hullo, what brings you down here?" He winked at her. "Overburdened already?"

Hermione smiled. "Not quite, but I've had a thought."

"Just one, that's not like you," Ron quipped.

Hermione chuckled. "You know all that gold you've got in Gringott's?"

"Yes," Ron said warily.

"I've thought of a good use for some of it."

Ron sighed.

Art shouted down the stairs then. "Mum, Dad?"

"Yeah?" Ron shouted back.

"Why must you two always yell everything?" Hermione muttered.

"Uncle Viktor is here!" Art shouted.

Ron looked at Hermione.

"Shit," she said grimly.

Viktor followed Art into the parlor and waited while he went to get Ron and Hermione. He stood twisting his winter cap in his hands and hoped they would understand about Gabrielle and her pregnancy. Thinking about that while standing in the parlor of this house, where he had once spent so much time, brought forth a memory he had not thought of in a long while.

He had just returned from a round of away games and Hermione had taken time off to spend with him. They had just returned from the market and were unpacking the bags when Viktor handed Hermione a bottle of dish soap and she said. "I'm pregnant."

He could tell from the look on her face that something more was wrong. He felt a knife twist in his gut. "Is not mine?"

She shook her head and wouldn't look at him.

"Is Ron's?" The words left him cold.

She shook her head again.

He felt his legs give way and he stumbled backward into one of the kitchen chairs. "Is Todor's," he gasped.

She nodded.

He tried to think what to say.

Hermione sat opposite him, tears streaming down her face. "What am I going to do?"

She was trembling now and Viktor had an upswell of compassion tainted with guilt and a terrible sense of responsibility. He reached across the table and took her hand. "What do you want do?"

She placed a hand over her belly. "This isn't anything I would have planned, but…I can't just…" She looked up at him with glassy eyes. "I'm going to have this baby."

He nodded grimly. "How long have you been…?"

"Two and a half months. I knew two weeks ago, but you were away and I didn't want to do this by owlpost."

He took a deep breath. "We need find Todor. Make arrangements to see him. The team has hiatus in couple of months. We can go then to Bulgaria."

Hermione nodded. "So you're not…" she looked away from him, "leaving?"

He gripped her hand tighter. "No. You will not be alone."

She leaned down and pressed her cheek against his hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

When Ron and Hermione entered the room, Viktor came out of his reverie and thrust his right hand out to Ron, "Ron."

Ron shook his hand.

Viktor nodded at Hermione. "Hermione."

"Viktor," she said.

"Well, now that we all know each other's names," Ron said lightly. "What brings you out in the cold, Vik?"

He cleared his throat. He wanted to say this right. "I want to apologize for Gabrielle's behavior. She has not been herself lately. We have not told anyone yet, but she is pregnant again and for some reason, the first trimester she is always paranoid and crazy. Never this bad before, but still, she is not herself."

"Well," Hermione said, stepping over to the parlor fire to warm her hands. "No harm done, so don't worry about it."

"Still," Viktor said. "I am very sorry."

"So who's with Gabrielle now?" Ron asked.

"She and the girls are staying with Bill and Fleur until I get back from the away games."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"I did not get the owl about what happened until this morning. I left the assistant coach to handle practice and came here." He twisted his cap tighter.

"Well, like Hermione said, no harm done."

Viktor looked at Hermione. "I just want you to understand--"

"I do understand," Hermione said. "Really. Don't worry about it. It's not like we're going to contact the authorities or even tell anyone. She's hormonal and that ridiculous column made her crazy. I understand that. I really do."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

Viktor looked from one to the other. "Yes, well, I should be going then. I appreciate your understanding."

Ron walked him to the door and Hermione took a seat in the parlor and watched the fire crackle in the grate. Now that she had restored the memory of their trip to Amsterdam the events came flooding back to her. She sighed and let her head fall back against the chair.

Amsterdam…


	46. Amsterdam

Chapter 46: Amsterdam

The Portkey felt like it took forever and when they landed, Hermione was instantly thirsty and exhausted. Viktor took her elbow.

"Are you alright? You look pale."

"I'm fine," Hermione assured him. "I just have never taken a Portkey so far before."

Viktor nodded. "Ah, you get used to it. Come inside and have glass of water."

The door to the small brick house flew open then and a thin man with a mop of curly brown hair threw himself at Viktor almost knocking him over. The two proceeded to wrestle and they spoke in rapid fire Bulgarian that Hermione couldn't follow.

Finally, the roughhousing came to an end and Viktor walked his friend over to where she was standing. "This is Hermione Granger," Viktor said. "And this," he said punching the other man lightly in the chest is Todor Golakov." He paused. "How do you say? Ah, my best mate."

Hermione smiled and shook Todor's hand. He had warm blue eyes and a very sweet smile.

"Come," he said, gesturing toward the house. "We get you settled. We are almost eating."

Hermione was relieved that Todor spoke English. He had a heavy accent, heavier that Viktor's, but at least she understood him.

Todor showed them to their room. Viktor carried their bags upstairs, and Hermione tried to soothe her nerves when he left them both in the same room. _You've already slept with him_, she reminded herself. _Of course he expects to share a room. Don't be a baby about it._

They made their way back to the kitchen to find three other people sitting around the table, two women, Marianna and Boyka and a man, Filip.

They were all smiles and Marianna handed Viktor and Hermione each a beer and everyone sat down.

Dinner was a mishmash affair. There was some fish and some chicken, dribs and drabs of vegetables. Everyone seemed to nibble from the common plates in the middle of the table. The kitchen was large and untidy. It was old and the furnishings and cookware and dishes were all worn and chipped, but the conversation around the table was spirited and revolved primarily around art and politics. Hermione gathered that Boyka and Marianna and Todor were all artists. They all seemed to paint portraits for the money but longed to have more attention paid to their political art. Filip didn't seem to have a job, Hermione thought perhaps he was a student, but she wasn't sure. He was quieter and younger than the others, but there was an intensity about him that she found somewhat unnerving. He was Dutch, but the others were all Bulgarian.

They sat at the table for what felt to Hermione like hours. Unfortunately, most of the conversation was in Bulgarian and she was only able to understand the occasional word. At first, Viktor was translating for her, but as time went on and more beer was consumed that all but stopped. Hermione sat quietly taking it all in and drinking her beer. After the dishes were cleared, Boyka brought over a big tray of brownies. Hermione was grateful for the chocolate and ate hers and Viktor's. He wasn't a fan of chocolate. There was a flavor there she couldn't quite place, but it was subtle and the brownies were good. Finally, the party moved into the living room, which was furnished in what was once probably expensive furniture but was now just as worn and run down as what was in the kitchen. Hermione wondered why no one bothered to do a charm to update the furnishings, but then she remembered the house was rented. While the others talked, she walked around the first floor and looked out the windows. There was a canal running behind the house and the yard looked as though it had once been an elaborate, albeit small, garden but was now overgrown.

Her feet started to tingle. She was aware that she was very tired. The Portkey must have been more draining than she originally thought. She drank the last of her beer and joined Viktor on one of the couches. He looked at her.

"You are tired," he said.

She nodded.

"Come," he said, standing and holding out his hand to her. "We go to bed."

As they walked up the stairs, it seemed to Hermione that her feet were sinking further into the carpet than they really should be and the banister railing was soft. When they got to their bedroom, Viktor held the door open for her and moved behind her as he closed it.

"Are you too tired for me?" he asked softly as he kissed the back of her neck.

She shook her head. She was sleepy but somehow she felt very alive, very sensitive. As he slid her clothes off she felt every thread as it slipped over her skin. The sensation was disorienting, so it was a welcome relief when Viktor pulled her down on the bed. He cast a contraception charm and kissed her; his mouth was sweet. Hermione felt like she could kiss him forever. His tongue sliding against hers made her flesh goose pimple. As his hands roamed her body it seemed to her as if his fingers sank into her flesh. When had she become so soft? As he swirled his tongue around her nipple, she began to get a little nervous. She was so soft now, would he just eat her up? Would there be anything left? As he slid down her body, she ran her fingers through his hair.

"Viktor?"

He looked up at her. "Hmm?"

"Come up here."

He moved back up and kissed her; then started to descend again.

"No, wait, come back."

He looked at her in confusion. "Do you not want…?"

"I want you inside me."

He smiled at her and moved into position. As he sank into her, Hermione was disturbed by his hipbones melting into hers, but at least this way she didn't think she'd disappear entirely, although she wondered if her bones would squish out of place. Finally, it was too disturbing to watch. She closed her eyes against all the melting. It barely registered when he came.

He pushed her hair out of the way and curled behind her. She was happy to have his arm around her. That should anchor her and keep her from melting into the bed.

_Ron stepped in front of her and took the curse. It knocked him off his feet and he landed with a sickening thud. His face was flayed open and Hermione could see the white of his jawbone. She never saw the curse coming that knocked her out. She only felt the searing pain of it burning through the fresh scar in her side._

She bolted upright in bed and instantly regretted it. Her heart was pounding. Her head was pounding and there was a throbbing pain in her side.She hated the damn scar. She reached for Ron just to reassure herself that he was there, safe beside her. Only instead of Ron's short red hair gracing the pillow, there were Viktor's silky black locks. She felt tears well and screwed her eyes up to stop them. Why did her head hurt so much? She hadn't had that much beer last night. Then she remembered the melting sensations. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom in the hopes that there might be hangover potion in the medicine cabinet. She was disappointed. Clearly, this was a Muggle house because there was only a bottle of aspirin.

"Damn it," she muttered, but took four and drank three glasses of water from the sink. Then she took a shower, by the end of which, she was starting to feel better. She cast a charm to cover her scars. She brushed her teeth and then cast the elaborate spells to straighten her hair and pulled it into a simple ponytail and went back into the bedroom.

Viktor was sitting up in bed reading a copy of **The Daily Prophet**. "The owls come while you in shower." He tossed her the other copy of the paper.

She crawled in bed beside him and started reading. When she reached the style section, she felt like someone punched her. There was a photo of Harry and Ginny and Ron with his arm around some girl. They were laughing and smiling in the moving photo. Something inside her, that she already thought completely broken, shattered further. She closed the paper and folded it back up. Viktor was looking at her sympathetically.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," she said tightly.

He sighed. "Is alright if you want to speak of it. I know it must hurt."

Hermione shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about. He doesn't want me anymore." But saying the words felt like a knife in her gut.

Viktor leaned over. "Then he is idiot," he whispered.

She smiled sadly and pressed her palm to his cheek. "You're sweet."

He wrapped an arm around her hips and pulled her closer to him. "I not so sweet," he said and kissed her neck. "What was I doing last night, when you stop me? Where was I?" he asked and trailed his tongue down her body. "Was here?" he asked as his tongue circled her nipple. He kissed the rising bud and then sucked in the tip very hard.

Hermione gasped in a harsh breath at the pleasure/pain of it.

He released it and circled it again with his tongue. "No, I think was here." He trailed his tongue lower, stopping to nibble on the sensitive flesh around her belly button until she squirmed beneath him. "No, not here," he said and continued lower.

She moaned as he bit the inside of her thigh just hard enough to leave a bruise but not hard enough to break the skin. "I am sorry," he said laving it with his tongue. "But I have not had breakfast." He looked at the juncture of her thighs. "Now, what to eat?"

Her back arched off the bed as his mouth descended. He left nothing unexplored by his mouth and fingers. He would bring her spiraling up to break, but when she pushed weakly against him to stop, he would bring her up again. This was so very different from Ron, who always stopped when she said stop. He would bring her off and then slide up her body and plunge inside to find his own release. That was sex. This, this was different. Viktor wouldn't let her go. He kept taking her back to orgasm until her whole body was trembling from the effort. She had never in her life been what anyone would consider a screamer, but that morning, Viktor made her scream.

When they finally made it downstairs sometime later, Hermione walked into the kitchen to find Boyka and Marianna locked in a passionate embrace.

"Excuse me," Hermione said, backing up and feeling herself blush. She bumped into Viktor, who was following her.

Boyka slowly extricated herself from Marianna. "No problem," she said, smiling at them. "But if you've come to eat, there's no food."

Viktor's stomach took that moment to growl.

Filip walked into the other end of the kitchen.

"Fine," Viktor grumbled. "I go to market." He pointed to Filip. "You, come with me."

Hermione touched his chest. "You want me to go too?"

Viktor shook his head. "No, you stay. Find some pans and pots. I am fast."

She did as he asked and went through all the cookware in the kitchen, taking inventory. It was all pretty paltry so she transfigured a chipped bowl into a heavy casserole dish and turned several other small items into decent dinner wear.

Boyka and Marianna did their part by washing up the dishes from last night. Todor came in while they were cleaning and began holding up various kitchen items and telling Hermione what they were called in Bulgarian. He insisted she repeat after him. She turned the game around and had him repeating the English word after she repeated the Bulgarian. Bokya already spoke fluent English, better than Viktor actually, but Marianna joined in and all of them were laughing and having a good time running around the house holding up things to name.

By the time Viktor and Filip returned, the rest of the house was completely transformed. Hermione had advanced the game by transfiguring items, which were dull or chipped into something better. The rest of them got into it and pretty soon everyone's wands were out and the whole house looked different.

For breakfast, Hermione made Mrs. Weasley's egg and bacon casserole, which served ten and was a huge hit.

Viktor took Hermione out for the afternoon and they walked around the city and saw the sights and then found the Netherlands equivalent to Diagon Alley where they bought hangover potion and Hermione bought some healing balm. When they came back to the house late in the afternoon it was to find Todor and Filip playing with an old Muggle camera.

"I found in bazaar today," Todor said triumphantly. "I will charm to float around house and take picture."

"Fantastic," Filip crowed.

"Only downstairs," Boyka insisted. "I don't want that thing floating into my bedroom."

Todor gave a sweeping bow. "Of course." He made an additional comment in Bulgarian that Hermione didn't catch.

Everyone laughed.

Hermione arched her back and tried to ease some of the tension out of her side. The scar was aching. It often did after walking around for a long time. "I'm going to go lay down for a little while," she told Viktor.

When she got upstairs she took off her blouse and bra and opened the healing balm. The bedroom door opened. She squeaked and turned around and covered her breasts with her arms.

"Only me," Viktor said.

"Oh," Hermione said, reminding herself to relax, that he'd already seen her naked.

"What is wrong? Are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm just a little sore."

Viktor stepped behind her. "I am sorry…I…Did I hurt you this morning?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, no, of course not. It's just from walking around all day."

"Your back hurts?"

"No, my side. It's an old injury, it hurts sometimes."

Viktor ran his hands along her sides.

She winced away from him.

"But I do not see--"

"It's charmed, it's fine. I'm fine."

He frowned at her. "Charmed? Why? Is under shirt, no one see but me."

"And me," Hermione corrected. "I don't like to look at it. I cast the charm every day. It's nothing."

He ran his hand lightly up her side again.

She clenched her teeth.

"Let me see," he said.

She looked him in the eye and sighed, "Fine." She said the incantation to drop the charm.

Viktor blew out a slow breath. "So red, are you sure is alright?"

"It's fine. According to the healers I've probably got another year or so before it starts to fade to white and most of the tenderness goes away."

"Most?"

Hermione shrugged, trying for nonchalance, she said, "It was a bad injury. Most would be a welcome relief."

He shook his head. "You should have told before. I have put hand there, it must hurt, why you did not tell me?"

She shook her head. "I'm not made of porcelain. I won't break."

Viktor cupped her cheek. "I know you are strong, you do not have to hide pain."

Hermione nodded.

Viktor picked up the jar of balm. "Lay down."

She looked at him a moment before lying down on the bed.

He smoothed the balm over and around the scar, waiting for the numbing spell to take effect before pressing his thumbs into her side to ease the tension in the muscles that had a tendency to cramp around the scar tissue.

Hermione had to admit it felt good.

When he was finished, Viktor lay down next to her. She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. "Thank you."

He leaned into her and kissed her back. "Anytime."

She curled up against him and they napped for the rest of the afternoon.

That evening Viktor joined Todor and Filip who were playing with the camera and Hermione went into the kitchen with Boyka and Marianna to cook dinner. Considering the language gap, things went well. Marianna knew very little English, but between the three of them they managed to make spaghetti for everyone. The only confusion came when Hermione asked for a colander to drain the noodles and Marianna handed her the calendar off the wall. Boyka couldn't stop laughing about it and was quick to tell the men as they came in for dinner.

After everyone had eaten and the wine was gone, Marianna got up to make coffee and Boyka began rolling joints for everyone. Viktor and Hermione declined, but Viktor got a bottle of vodka and brought it over to the table. The conversation turned to politics and thus more of it was said in Bulgarian than in English. After awhile Todor left the table. Hermione alternated between drinking coffee and having the occasional sip of vodka while she tried to follow the conversation, but when Filip pounded on the table and shouted something about Voldemort an icy chill ran through her veins and a few minutes later she excused herself from the table. Viktor merely nodded and continued the heated debate.

Hermione walked outside to get some air. She found Todor leaning over a candle holding a piece of foil in one hand a tube in the other.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Taking pain away," he replied.

Hermione sat down next to him and watched the water moving in the canal behind the house. "What hurts?" she asked.

Todor moved the foil away from the candle and looked at her. "My heart. The woman I love, she no longer love me."

She looked at the foil and the tube. "Does that help?"

Todor smiled. "When I smoke this, I feel nothing."

Hermione stared at him intently for a moment. "Can I have some?"

Todor handed her the tube and held the candle under the foil for her.

Hermione inhaled the fumes coming off the foil through the tube. Nothing happened. She shrugged at Todor.

"Give time," he laughed.

Hermione leaned back on her hands and returned her gaze to the canal.

"Viktor is not what hurts?" Todor said.

She shook her head. "No, Viktor's been great."

"Viktor is great man. Best man I know," Todor said emphatically.

Hermione nodded. "I've known a lot of great men," she said softly.

"Then you are lucky," Todor said, "I know very few."

Hermione smiled at him. "I think I'll head up to bed. Goodnight." But when she looked at Todor he was luminescent. "Why are you glowing?" she asked.

He grinned at her, "Because I am magical creature. You are glowing too."

Hermione looked down at her self. She was glowing brighter than Todor was. She looked through the glass doors into the living room. All the objects they had charmed earlier in the day were shimmering too. The Muggle items appeared dull and void of light. Hermione had been able to glimpse magic before, but it had been nothing like this. She pointed to the now empty and discarded foil packet. "Is this because of that?"

Todor nodded. "Beautiful, yes?" He looked at her. "But you have holes in your magic." He pointed to her chest and side. "Here and here, why is that?"

Hermione shrugged as if she didn't know, but she thought the holes must have something to do with her scars. She had a sudden desire to see herself naked in a mirror. "I should go to bed," she said, but found she felt very heavy, as though her bones had grown denser and now weighed her down so much more than before; she needed to rest before going upstairs. She wasn't sure how long she lay there looking up at the stars, but Todor seemed content to sit with her. Neither of them said anything else, and finally Hermione managed to move. The heaviness was gone only to be replaced by a sense of moving through water. Everyone else seemed very far away. She could still hear the others arguing in the kitchen but it was as if they were at the other end of a very long tunnel. She could see them through the door. They were varying levels of intense light. Viktor was the brightest one in the room; Filip was the dullest. She smiled and started up the stairs. It seemed like a very long journey, but she didn't mind. When finally she stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, her suspicions proved correct. There were distinct gaps in her luminescence, one was centered between her breasts and the other ran along her side. Some part of her felt she should be bothered, and yet she just couldn't seem to care, so she went to bed and lay there for a long time enjoying the sensation of floating free of pain and sorrow.

The next morning, Hermione woke up to cotton-mouth and a throbbing headache. Viktor was already up and she could hear him in the bathroom brushing his teeth. **The Daily Prophet** was on the bed next to her. Hermione sat up slowly and glanced at the front page.

"Ah, you are up," Viktor said.

Hermione nodded and then instantly regretted it. "Can I have some of that hangover potion you bought yesterday and a glass of water?"

Viktor smiled. "Of course," he went back into the bathroom and came out carrying a small vial and a glass of water. "I did not think you drank so much last night."

Hermione shrugged and downed the contents of the vial. "Thank you," she said and started drinking the water.

"You are welcome," he said. "Owls come this morning. I have been invited to work out with the Netherlands national team."

"Oh," Hermione said, sitting up further.

"Yes," Viktor said. His excitement was infectious. "Is wonderful opportunity."

Hermione smiled at him. It was nice to see him so happy about something. "How long will you be training?"

He frowned and sat on the edge of the bed next to her. "Most of day, but I am back for evening. You will be alright?"

Hermione smiled. "I think I can entertain myself for a few hours."

He smiled back at her. "Good."

She spent most of the morning lounging in bed reading the paper and didn't go downstairs until the afternoon, when her growling stomach insisted she visit the kitchen.

She fried herself a couple of eggs and made toast, which she covered in honey, and then poured herself a big glass of pumpkin juice. While she was eating, Boyka came into the kitchen. She took a banana from the bowl in the center of the table and sat down with Hermione.

"So," she said. "You are from London?"

Hermione nodded.

"I studied art there under Magenta Comstock. She was a genius," Boyka said. "Too bad she's gone now."

"In the war?"

Boyka nodded. "Death Eaters attacked the school. She was very outspoken against them."

Hermione pushed at what was left of the eggs on her plate, her appetite had suddenly disappeared.

"But you would know all about that," Boyka continued.

Hermione looked up sharply.

"It's alright," Boyka said soothingly. "I read **The Daily Prophet** to keep up with my English. I know who you are, but don't worry. I won't say anything to the others."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you. I'd rather not be the topic of conversation."

"Of course not, although, it does make one think. Why are you here?"

Hermione cast her wand over her plate to clean it and then put it back in the cabinet. She looked at Boyka. "I'm here with Viktor."

"But--"

Hermione shook her head and left.

She spent the rest of the day reading upstairs in her room, but late in the afternoon her stomach sent her back downstairs. She made a sandwich and got a glass of juice and then went into the parlor where Filip, Marianna and Boyka were all sitting on the floor playing exploding snap. They were all drinking and smoking joints.

Boyka looked up at Hermione, "You want in?"

Hermione shook her head and walked outside. Todor was sitting on the back step looking at the canal. She sat next to him. He looked at her sandwich.

"Want half?" she asked.

He smiled. "Yes."

She gave him half her sandwich and then transfigured a rock into a stone goblet and poured in half of her juice.

"Thank you," he said.

They ate in silence and then afterward went for a long walk by the canal. When they returned, Hermione was thirsty and tired and her side was aching. Todor stopped her before she went in. He held a foil packet, "I will share," he said.

She looked at him and then the packet. "Alright," she nodded.

A few minutes later they went into the parlor, Filip was walking in with a large tray full of sandwiches and crisps and pretzels and a big pitcher of pumpkin juice. He sat it on the floor next to Boyka and Marianna. "Want some?" he asked Todor and Hermione.

They each had a glass of juice but nothing to eat. A few minutes later, Viktor came in from practice. He was still wearing his Quidditch gear and he was grubby and sweaty. Hermione smiled at him from the floor. She was just starting to feel the effects of smoking earlier.

"Practice went well?" she asked.

He nodded and poured himself a glass of juice, which he drained immediately. Then he had another. "Excellent!" he said wiping his mouth. "I will take shower and come back." He grabbed one of the beers from the bucket of ice that was sitting in the middle of the parlor.

Hermione watched him walk upstairs. She was starting to get really warm and the leaded feeling had overtaken her limbs. Filip put on some music and he and the other girls had started to dance. Todor smiled at Hermione, "Want to join them?"

She shook her head.

He laughed. "Me either."

A few minutes later, Filip took off his shirt.

"Is hot, no?" Todor commented.

Hermione nodded.

Filip and Boyka and Marianna were all dancing a lot closer now and Marianna had shed her shirt as well. Hermione glanced over and saw Todor removing his. She had an overwhelming sense of affection for everyone in the room. Todor stood up and held his hand out, "let's dance."

Hermione took his hand. "Alright."

The dancing was more like leaning against each other. The other three were more energetic. Marianna and Boyka were kissing as they danced, both shirtless now. Filip was running ice cubes over both of them. Hermione thought that looked good, she felt very hot so she took her shirt off too. She leaned back against Todor and they swayed to the music with her back against his chest, which unlike Ron's or Viktor's, was hairless. It felt slick and warm against her back. She lost herself in the sensation of it rubbing against her heated flesh. His hands were low on her hips as they moved to the rhythm of the music.

Viktor came downstairs in just a pair of trousers. His hair was damp and pushed back off his forehead. He stood scowling in front of Hermione. "What are you doing?"

She pulled him too her and kissed his chest. "It's okay," she said. "We're only dancing. Come, dance with us."

Viktor seemed to accept that and slid his arms around her, sandwiching her between him and Todor as they danced.

The dancing seemed to go on forever, but as the evening progressed and the room got hotter and hotter clothing became more and more scarce. For Hermione, it was if she was watching herself from a distance. She was naked and sweaty and slipping between Viktor and Todor. Todor said something to Viktor in Bulgarian and tugged Hermione to the floor. He was still behind her and she could feel him hard rubbing against her. She felt two opposing sensations at once. She felt both separate from the situation and incrediably sensitive. She really wanted Todor inside her and slid her knees apart to make room as she pressed back against him. She looked up at Viktor, who seemed confused and maybe a little upset.

"It's alright," she told him and wrapped her hand around his cock.

He was already hard and moaned as she held him.

"Shh," she said, and sank her mouth over him. After that, things got a little blurry. She could only remember a sea of limbs, cocks and breasts and who belonged to what wasn't very clear. She was only dimly aware of the beat of the music and a persistent flashing light.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she woke naked and sticky between Viktor and Todor. She was hot and thirsty and still stoned. She made her way to the kitchen for a drink of water, but it didn't seem like enough. She thought of the canal as she walked back into the parlor and suddenly it seemed like a very good idea to transform into her Animagus and head to the water. A minute later an otter left the parlor and slid into the canal. The water felt so good against her fur. She swam for what seemed like a long time before going back into the house. It slipped her mind to transform back, so she sniffed at the feet in the room until she found Viktor and curled up against him.

She awoke the next morning to the sounds of an argument. Her head throbbed. She opened her eyes to find Viktor and Todor naked and asleep on either side of her. Then she noticed she had paws. Now she was fully awake and transformed back into herself. If anything, her headache got worse. Panic began to rise with the nausea. She pushed both down. Panic, she knew didn't solve anything, and usually made things worse. "Accio hangover potion," she said and sighed with relief when the little vial hit her hand. She drank it down in one gulp and then scrounged around for her clothes. She found her shirt and knickers and put them on, but Todor was asleep on top of her jeans, and she didn't see her bra. Now that the hangover potion had eased her headache she was more aware of the rest of her body. Everything hurt. Every muscle screamed for attention and the smell in the room made her gag. The argument was getting louder and more heated. She struggled to her feet and Viktor started to stir. She looked at the two men and again and had to push down the panic, to stay focused on what was happening right now rather than what had happened last night.

Viktor sat up and moaned, holding his head. "Who is screaming?"

Hermione called another bottle of hangover potion and handed it to him. "Drink this, you'll feel better. I think it must be Boyka and Filip arguing." Marianna was lying on the floor on the other side of Todor.

Viktor stood with some difficulty and pulled on his trousers. He surveyed the scene around him and let out what Hermione was certain was a Bulgarian expletive. "Come," he said and lead her into the kitchen, where Filip and Boyka had wands drawn and were still shouting at each other in what Hermione thought must be Dutch. It didn't sound like Bulgarian to her and it certainly wasn't English. Viktor and Hermione instinctively called their own wands.

Viktor said something in Bulgarian and Bokya turned to him. Filip took that moment to Apparate away.

Boyka shouted in frustration. She began talking in rapid fire Bulgarian to Viktor.

"Wait, wait," Hermione said holding up her hands. "In English, please."

Bokya sighed and took a deep breath. "That bastard," she spat, "spiked the pumpkin juice with ecstasy last night. She pressed her fists into her eyes. "Fucking pervert and his lesbian fantasies. Marianna will kill me! I never should have let him come here."

Hermione felt her legs go weak. She sat down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. Viktor did the same.

A scream came from the living room. They all rushed in to find Marianna sitting up screaming. Hermione knew how she felt. The screaming woke Todor who was scrambling into his trousers as fast as he could. Boyka went to comfort Marianna and Hermione snatched her jeans from the floor and pulled Viktor into the kitchen to give the two women some privacy. Todor followed.

Hermione pulled on her jeans and they all sat at the table staring at the scarred wooden surface and avoiding each other's eyes.

Finally, Viktor said, "What do we do now?"

Todor wiped a hand down his face and shook his head.

Hermione took a deep breath. She couldn't believe she was here again. She tapped her finger on the table for a moment. "We make breakfast."

Both men looked at her. "What?" they said simultaneously.

"Look," Hermione said, "you two have known each other a long time, right?"

Viktor nodded. "Always."

"Todor, would you ever intentionally hurt Viktor?"

He shook his head. "No."

She placed her hand on Viktor's arm and looked him in the eye. "Neither would I."

She turned back to Todor, "And you don't want me, right? Aren't you hoping to get that other woman back?"

"Pietra," Todor nodded. "I will get her back. I know she loves me still."

"Good," Hermione said, turning back to Viktor, "Does this kill us for you?"

Viktor frowned at her. "I do not understand question."

"Can you still be with me, after last night, or is this it for you? It's alright if it is, just be honest."

Viktor shook his head. "I need to take shower. I cannot think like this."

"Me too," Todor nodded and left the room.

Viktor looked at Hermione before leaving to go upstairs. She let her head fall back against the chair. She couldn't believe this was happening. She couldn't think about what happened last night. She couldn't even allow herself to think about Filip and all the rage she should be feeling right now. She couldn't think at all. She washed her hands and splashed water on her face in the kitchen sink and then made another one of Mrs. Weasley's breakfast casseroles. She was just casting the heating charm when Viktor stuck his head in the doorway of the kitchen.

"I go for walk, clear my head."

Hermione nodded. "Of course." She sighed as the front door slammed and then she went upstairs to take a shower. Once under the steady stream of hot water, she let the tears come. She ended up on her knees sobbing and retching and trembling uncontrollably. Finally, to pull herself back together she began making lists in her head of things that were worse than this: finding her parents dead, that death eaters blood spraying over her, Ron taking that curse, the list went on. Those were all worse, worse than this. She could get through this.

By late afternoon, Viktor still hadn't returned. Hermione began pacing nervously around the house. Boyka and Marianna hadn't left their room since that morning and she didn't know where Todor was. She was starting to think that Viktor was definitely going to leave her. The prospect of going back to her parent's house in London by herself, to face those empty rooms with no friends, no family, no job, no life was starting to make her panicky. She heard the back door open and close and hurried into the parlor to see if Viktor had returned.

It was Todor going out to sit on the steps. Hermione paced around the living room for a few minutes chewing on her nails, finally the draw was too much and she went outside. As she suspected, Todor was opening one of the little foil packets. The candle was already lit. She set next to him and watched his ritual. He looked at her.

"He's going to leave me."

Todor shook his head. "Viktor is better man than that."

"Viktor hardly knows me. He's not in love with me. There's no reason for him to stay. I'll be alone."

"You make him happy. He has not smiled so much since Nikolina die." The little foil packet started to release fumes. Todor leaned over and captured them with the tube.

He passed it to Hermione who took it, desperate to quell the fear inside her. The lead had just begun to settle in her bones when the shouting started. Viktor appeared out of nowhere, kicking over the candle and yelling at Todor in Bulgarian. Todor seemed to be pleading with him, but Hermione couldn't follow the conversation. Then Viktor wrenched her up by her arm and dragged her upstairs, she couldn't seem to keep her feet under her and everything was so heavy.

In the bathroom, Viktor conjured a bathtub full of iced water. He dragged Hermione over to it and forced her to her knees.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed as he dunked her head into the freezing cold water.

Hermione gasped for air as he pulled her back up. "I--"

"Why smoke heroin? Why do that?" He dunked her again.

This time she came up sputtering "Heroin? No, you inject heroin, we were just smoking."

"Inject, smoke, snort. You can do all with heroin and Todor has done all. Idiot!" He pushed her head back into the water.

"Wait," she cried as her pulled her back up. "Viktor please stop."

"You are witch, you stop me!" He dunked her again.

"Please!" she sobbed when he brought her back up.

"He told me he quit," Viktor growled, "but instead he gets you to smoke." He pushed her back under.

When he brought her back up, she spat out a mouth full of water and coughed. "I asked him if I could have some. He said it would make the pain go away. I just wanted the pain to go away."

Viktor stared at her, his mouth open for a moment. Then his mouth tightened into an angry line. "Idiot," he shouted again and pushed her back under.

But Hermione had had enough and the cold water had brought back enough of her senses that when he pulled her up again she blew him across the room with a wandless non-verbal.

She was surprised to see the wolfish grin that spread across his face. "You are fine," he said as he crawled toward her.

"Mum?"

Art's voice stirred Hermione out of the memory. She shook her head. "Yes, dear, what is it?"


	47. Way Past Sixteen

Chapter 47: Way Past Sixteen

Art stepped from the foyer into the parlor. "I'm going to take Emma into Diagon Alley, do some window shopping, maybe it'll do her good."

Hermione smiled at him. "That sounds like a fine idea. Actually, get some galleons from your father. Do more than just window shop."

Art grinned. "Alright then."

Hermione shook her head at her own sentimentality. It pleased her so to see him smile. "I want you to know," she said, more serious now, "how proud I am of you for standing by Emma with her parents. That must have been very painful for her. Having you there must have made it more bearable."

He surprised her by sitting on the edge of the ottoman in front of her. "I hope so," he said, "but it's hard to know what to say. I just can't believe they would do this to her. Emma's such a great girl. I can't imagine anyone not wanting her around."

Hermione smiled sadly. "I know, love, but there's no sense trying to puzzle them out. I don't imagine this is ever going to make sense. The best you can do is be there for Emma and help her get through this, and she will get through this."

"It's just such a blow," Art sighed.

"True, but you'd be amazed what a person can come back from."

Art looked up at her and cocked his head as if he was going to ask a question, but instead he just said, "Yeah, I bet I would."

Hermione smiled and stood. "Well, I need to find your father and finish our conversation." She chuckled. "I'm going to spend a great deal of his money."

Art grimaced, "Could you give me a head start? I want to get to him before you do."

Hermione nodded. "Wise idea. Run along. I'll go have a snack."

After Hermione explained to Ron the ways in which she wanted to spend a portion of his fortune, she left him to recover and ruminate on his own. She was actually surprised by how quickly he relented. Generally, he put up more of a fuss when she went after his wallet, which wasn't that often. After all, she had money of her own, just not this kind of money. She couldn't decide if he capitulated because he genuinely thought it was a good idea or if he was just that desperate for her to forgive him. She hoped it was the former and not the latter, but either way the end result was what mattered.

She went into her study and sent a letter to McGonagall asking for a meeting early the next afternoon and then spent the rest of the day researching healing balms and making notes for her book. It was getting late when she finally doused the light and made her way upstairs. She was walking past their bedroom to the guestroom when she changed her mind and turned around.

She took a deep breath before tapping softly on the door, determined that if Ron was already asleep she wouldn't wake him and would go back to the guestroom instead.

"Yeah?" Came a clearly alert voice from their bedroom.

With some trepidation, she opened the door.

Ron was sitting on the bed surrounded by parchment. There was an abacus next to him and he was making notes in a ledger that was open in his lap. He set his quill down when he saw her in the doorway. He opened his mouth, but nothing was said.

Hermione stepped into the room. "If you're busy--"

Ron made a sweeping gesture with his wand and the ledger, parchment, abacus, and quill all went sailing over to the dresser and stacked themselves neatly. "I'm not busy."

Hermione looked around the room. "The guestroom bed needs replacing. It's lumpy."

"I'll see that Winky orders a new one."

"Oh, I can do it. She's got enough on her mind with the babies coming."

Ron nodded. "Alright, did you…did you want to sleep here then? I can sleep in the guestroom," he hastily added. "You know me, I can sleep anywhere, lumps or not."

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "That won't be necessary. This is a big bed. We can share it," she smiled slightly, "but it's not like I'm overburdened or anything, I just want to sleep."

"Of course," Ron said. "I was just teasing with that. I know you need time, but this is your bed too, there's no reason for you to be uncomfortable, especially since you're still recovering. It's important that you sleep well."

Hermione nodded. "So you don't mind then?"

"Of course not, I'm always happy to share a bed with you, luv."

"Alright then." She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth and changed into the gown that was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. When she came back into the room, Ron was still sitting up in bed waiting for her.

"You know, I really am sorry about what I said."

Hermione nodded. "I know, but I still need time."

"Of course," he said, and scooted down and got under the covers.

She slid into her side of the bed, but lay there for a long time staring at the ceiling.

She had just dozed off when Ron's shout woke her.

"Nooo!" He came forward in the bed.

"It's alright," she said, instinctively reaching for him. "Just a nightmare, Ron. Everyone is fine."

He stared at her wild-eyed for a moment, before letting himself fall back against the bed. "Shit," he muttered. "Haven't had one of those in a long time."

She slid over next to him and rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heart racing beneath her ear. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tighter against him. That didn't seem to be enough, so he rolled toward her and pulled her to him with both arms.

"I'm so sorry that I hurt you," he whispered against her hair.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "I've hurt you too."

"It's not the same," Ron continued. "You're never vicious."

Hermione pulled away slightly and looked at him.

He dropped his eyes. "The last malicious thing you did to me was attack me with those canaries."

She gaped at him. "Ron that was sixth year."

He nodded. "Yeah, and even then, I hurt you first." He pulled away from her and sat up. "What was I thinking, taking up with Lavender?"

"I think we both know what you were thinking," she scoffed.

"No," Ron said, still not looking at her. "It had nothing to do with Lavender. It was about you. When I found out you'd snogged Krum, all I wanted to do was hurt you, because I felt like you'd hurt me even though it didn't have anything to do with me."

Hermione sighed. "Ron you were sixteen--"

"Yeah, and now I'm almost forty and I'm still doing the same damn thing. When am I going to grow up?" He dropped his head into his hands.

Hermione lay back against the bed. She didn't know what to say. He was right, but it broke her heart to hear him say it. She didn't want this. She just wanted it to pass. She knew she could cover this for him, make it better, reach out and touch him, pull him to her, make love to him, and make it all better. And yet she didn't. She breathed out a slow breath through her mouth. Finally, she said, "I love you, Ron. I always have, and I always will. I'm going to sleep now." She turned on her side away from him and closed her eyes, hoping he'd do the same.

The next morning, when she woke, Hermione found a piece of parchment next to her on the pillow.

H.,

I've gone to a meeting in Hogsmeade with Fred and George.

Then I'm going by the shop. Good luck with McGonagall today.

Love you,

R.

Hermione smiled and went to get in the shower.


	48. All's Well

Chapter 48: All's Well

An icy wind was blowing through Hogsmeade village as Hermione made her way into the Three Broomsticks.

As usual, Stan Shunpike was behind the bar. He nodded at Hermione when she walked in. "Mrs. Weasley," he said cheerfully. "Shall I fetch Mrs. Potter?"

"No, thank you Stan, I'm actually meeting someone here. I'll go up and see Ginny after."

"Alright, you'll be needing a drink then. Whiskey neat?"

Hermione's stomach roiled at the idea. "Oh, heavens no. Just plain soda for me today."

Stan raised his eyebrows, but poured the soda and handed her the glass.

"Thanks," Hermione said, and made her way over to a table near the fire. She was happy to see that the lunch crowd hadn't arrived yet, so the place was still relatively empty. She looked up as the bells on the front door chimed. Minerva McGonagall made her way slowly over to the table. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, how long McGonagall would remain headmistress at Hogwarts.

"Hullo, Professor," Hermione said, standing.

McGonagall looked at her over the rims of her glasses. "Goodness, Hermione are we back to Professor."

Hermione smiled. "I'm sorry, Minerva, it just slipped out."

McGonagall took the seat opposite her. "So why have you called me out on such a bitter day?"

"I think you'll find it worth the trouble. Ron and I have been talking and we'd like to make an endowment to the school to fund a few scholarships."

McGonagall's eyebrows shot up. "Well, that's wonderful news."

Stan shuffled over then and McGonagall ordered a large Gillywater.

"Well, I wanted to discuss this with you because one of the scholarships we'd like to offer is really a post-graduate grant. I was wondering if the school would consider administering it if we also offered two scholarships to Hogwarts students."

"I don't see that that would be a problem," McGonagall said and sipped her Gillywater.

"Good," Hermione smiled.

"So what are the criteria? Are they strictly need-based?"

"The two to Hogwarts are. One should be for a Muggle-born student and the other should be for a student of wizard parents, that and a financial need are the only criteria. The one for a Muggle-born we would like to offer in honor of my parents and I'd like it named after them. The other one we would like named in honor of Ron's parents."

McGonagall nodded. "I think that's a wonderful idea."

"The third, however," Hermione said, "is a bit more complicated."

"Complicated how?" McGonagall asked shrewdly.

"Complicated in that it's a post-graduate grant offered to a student who has the requisite skills and desire to become a healer."

McGonagall looked at her knowingly. "That doesn't sound complicated."

"Well, we want to chose the first recipient, but she mustn't know the money is from us."

"Let me guess, you want to give it to Emma Silsbury."

Hermione nodded. "The problem is that she and Art are dating."

"And you don't want her to feel like the money comes with strings," McGonagall guessed.

"Exactly."

"I think we can manage that," McGonagall said and finished the last of her Gillywater. "Who do you want to name the grant after?"

"Actually, we'd like it to be called the Cabrera Grant, after the healer that saved my life."

McGonagall smiled broadly. "That's good then."

"And it won't be a problem for the school to administer?"

"No, actually we have a couple of other post-graduate grants. Charlie Weasley took the one for Care of Magical Creatures, which is how he ended up in Romania studying dragons."

"I didn't know that," Hermione said, surprised.

"Oh yes," McGonagall said. "And there are a couple of others, so it won't be a problem to administer yours."

"Naturally, although we want Emma to be the first recipient, it'll be up to the school to chose the others."

"Fine," McGonagall said.

"Ron ran some numbers and talked to his Goblin at Gringott's about how much the endowment would need to be to cover all three scholarships in perpetuity, and he's willing to transfer the money to Hogwart's accounts as soon as you give permission."

"Then permission granted," McGonagall said with a laugh.

When Hermione left the three broomsticks later that afternoon it was with a sense of accomplishment.

She needed a few things so she spent the rest of the afternoon shopping. After picking up several rolls of parchment as well as a dozen bottles of ink, she treated herself to a couple of nice new quills. Feeling rather lighthearted, she stopped at Honeyduke's and bought some fudge for Ron.

Ron was delighted with the fudge. Not only because he loved Honeyduke's fudge, but because it was a sign that Hermione was well on her way to forgiving him. He knew it was probably too soon to hope for sex, but just having her back in his bed went a long way toward making him feel better.

They were sitting in the parlor and he was licking the last of the fudge from his fingers when he happened to look over at Hermione. She was sitting in the other club chair in front of the fire. She had her feet tucked under her and an enormous tome open in her lap. She was stroking the feather end of her quill against her lips as she read, her brow furrowed in concentration. She looked like she'd managed to put on a few of pounds so her face wasn't so gaunt and firelight danced through the curls haphazardly framing her face. There for a moment in the firelight was the seventeen-year-old girl he'd fallen in love with. It took his breath away.

Hermione glanced up as if she felt his eyes on her. "What?" she asked.

Ron grinned at her. "Good fudge," he said.

She stayed up late reading, but when she went to bed Ron was sitting up waiting for her.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah, I've just been thinking."

"About?"

"Us."

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "And?"

"I lash out at you when I'm angry."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, you have a bad temper, but I have substance abuse issues and a tendency to keep secrets."

Ron looked up at her, clearly surprised by her comment. "So what does that mean?"

Hermione smiled. "Probably that we're bad people and we should stay together rather than inflict ourselves on anyone else."

Ron smiled back at her. "That's your solution?"

"Yes. I'm going to brush my teeth."

He was lying down when she came back into the room. She slid in on her side but then curled up next to him.

He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

She put an arm over his waist. "Think of it as a nightmare preventative."

He nuzzled his cheek against her hair. "Listen," he said softly, "if you need to talk…about what happened in Bulgaria…I can listen. I promise nothing you say will be thrown back at you."

Hermione closed her eyes. She thought for a moment how to respond. She didn't want him to think she was still trying to keep anything from him. "Look," she said, coming up on one elbow and looking him in the eye. "I don't really know much about what happened."

"But you put the memories back."

She nodded. "Yes, but the thing is once I couldn't hold the shield anymore they stunned me and kept stunning me. I…" She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath and then let it out before continuing. "I lost the baby because I couldn't tell the healers what curses had been used beyond Crucio and stunning." Her throat tightened and she could feel a tear slip. She didn't want to do this.

Ron used his thumb to wipe the tear away. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione shook her head. "No, you can't say that."

"What? Hermione, I am sorry."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. It's just…if I'd had her, I wouldn't have had Artie."

Ron frowned. "You don't know that."

Hermione gave him a withering look. "You would have raised another man's child?"

"Viktor was going to."

Hermione sighed. "You don't know that either."

"But he was, wasn't he?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't…" she paused. "I don't know. We were taken right after we told Todor. We hadn't really…" She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her forehead. She could feel another tear slip.

Ron cupped her cheek in his hand. "Well, I know this. I love you and I would love anything that was part of you."

She didn't know how she felt about his statement and it all felt like too much. After all, the man before her now might be capable of raising another man's child, but would that have been true of him at 20, Hermione didn't know. She only knew it didn't matter now anyway and she was just so tired of all of it. "I'm sorry, could we not talk about this anymore?"

He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. "Alright then."

She clung to him, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat against her ear and his chest hair soft against her cheek, and she cried. She let out all the tears she'd ever held back and he held her and let her cry.

It was cold on Platform 9¾. Ron and Hermione were watching Art and Emma board the train. She hunched her shoulders as an icy wind whistled through the platform.

"I can't believe this is the last time we're putting him on that train," Ron said wistfully.

"He's a grown man now," Hermione sighed. "When did that happen?"

"I don't know," Ron said, nudging her shoulder with his, "but I'm sure it's your fault."

She looked up at him and smirked. "I'm sure it is."

He winked at her. The train began moving and the other parents began to hurry back into the station to get out of the wind.

"So, you're going to work now then?" Ron asked in a much more serious tone.

Hermione turned to face him and nodded. "It's time."

"You'll be home for dinner?" he asked and the concern on his face broke her heart.

"Six o'clock on the dot," she said. She'd meant it to sound strong, but it didn't.

Ron nodded. He started to turn to go back inside when Hermione caught his hand.

He turned back to face her.

"You know when I get home tonight," she ran her hand down his chest. "I'm likely to feel overburdened."

A slow smile spread across his face. "I think I can see to your needs."

"See that you do," she said primly.

He cupped her face in both his hands and kissed her soundly. She melted into him and for a moment the world stopped and the icy wind disappeared and she was safe and warm. She slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer and felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

Even after they pulled out of the kiss, they held each other on the freezing cold platform, her head tucked under his chin, where it had fit so perfectly for such a very long time.


End file.
